


apsis

by TheStockholmEffect



Category: Fire Emblem, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canon deviation, Childhood Friends, Crimson Flower Route, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Unrequited Love, about felix going from crybaby to no talk me im angy, but sad story lmao, felix is a man w a plan....... to join the empire, its a very serious fic ok, no beta we die like Glenn, post-time skip spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-01-31 09:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21444247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStockholmEffect/pseuds/TheStockholmEffect
Summary: apsis: (n) either of two points on the orbit of a planet or satellite that are nearest to or furthest from the body around which it moves."I didn't ask. But that's hardly surprising," Felix retorted, swiftly taking one of Sylvain's pawns. "You're not the kind of person who would settle down and start a family.""Maybe I would with the right person," Sylvain said, stroking his beard."I highly doubt she exists.""Well," Sylvain said, and he couldn't help himself, "maybe he does."[aka a character study of how felix ended up joining the empire]
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Glenn Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Mercedes von Martritz, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, dimitri/glenn suggested/implied tho
Comments: 24
Kudos: 102





	1. to be a fraldarius

**Author's Note:**

> hi so this is a character study of our favorite spicy sword
> 
> in this chapter felix is a well adjusted individual and i would like to show you that through this set of words. in our next set of words we should get trauma due to death of loved one(s). in the next chapter we get a spiciness both in swords and in bodies, followed by ummm..... life at garreg mach ??? betrayal fun. :))
> 
> anyway here's wonderwall
> 
> NOTE: At time of publishing this, I have 4 chapters already written out and will be posting them weekly. I have maybe 1 or 2 chapters left to write and am trying to finish them before the other chapters are posted (and before new years lol), so yes, a lot of this is already prewritten. I have not gone over it so much to see if timelines match up so any inconsistencies are definitely my own and I apologize in advance for.... well, a lot of things, but let's keep it like this for now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oops this is unbeta'd

To be a Fraldarius is something Felix has always been proud of. At six years old, when he went out to his territories for the first time he had seen the respect of the villagers around him and he had felt a sense of pride, not exactly for himself, but for his father and brother. Glenn had been beside him then and laughed at Felix's expression. "I suppose you like being worshiped when you've done nothing to deserve it," he said, sporting a smile that only an eight-year-old with entirely too much confidence could.

Felix's cheeks burned. He was not able to say anything.

"Glenn," Father had said, a slight smile on his face warming up his features. "I seem to recall a similar expression on your face the first time we went out."

That shut Glenn up immediately. He scowled and looked away.

Father smiled at Felix, who blushed in gratitude at being favored by Father for once. "My son, look around you. These people look upon us with respect because we serve them and protect them. Always remember it that way. Though Glenn is to bear these responsibilities, you are still a Fraldarius and to be a Fraldarius means you may not live your life just on your own. Understand?"

Felix didn't. But he nodded anyway because when he did, Father would ruffle his hair just as he did now, his hand smoothing back his black hair. It had been months since he'd last seen Father. He spent seven months of the year between Blaiddyd and Fhirdiad and even though it was quite close to Fraldarius territory, he never spent longer than five months during spring and summer.

Nobody seemed to mind the amount of time Father spent away from home except Felix, or if they did they did not talk about it.

Once, Mother caught Felix crying over one of his departures and wiped away his tears with the pad of her thumb. Her amber eyes were sympathetic, so like his own. She was the prettiest woman he knew. "He will come back, you know."

"But why does he have to leave so many times?"

Mother took him in her arms, nestling him into her chest. He could hear her heart beating steadily. The first snowfall had begun and they watched it together. "Your Father is a very important man, Lixie. That means we must all make sacrifices in this family," she said, smoothing his hair back. He heard her sigh deep within her chest. "Though I cannot deny, that I miss him too."

When he looked up from his angle, he could not see her face, but he thought that perhaps that the way her fingers ran through his hair was slower, somehow sadder. 

The thought that Mother missed him too comforted him.

* * *

At eight years old, Felix was beginning to catch up to Glenn's mastery of the sword quickly. Their shared swordmaster called Felix's swordsmanship reckless, sometimes ruthless.

_"It may be time to test to see if he has been blessed with a Crest of Fraldarius_, the report he'd left for Father concluded. _His movements are swift as the Master Heir's, and perhaps may surpass him someday_."

Sylvain read the report out loud to him on a visit. The Gautiers were sending Sylvain more frequently and for longer stays in House Fraldarius these days. At first, Felix did not like Sylvain's presence. He took too much time away from Glenn and made fun of Felix too often. Not that Felix minded, but still. "A Crest, huh?" Sylvain said now. He turned to Glenn and said, "Both brothers with a Crest. Impressive." But he didn't sound too impressed. More than anything, he sounded strangely sad. 

Glenn rolled his eyes. "He's still got a long way to go. There's no way he's catching up to me."

"I will! I almost beat you," Felix said and stuck his tongue out at Glenn.

Glenn stuck his tongue out back at them. "Only because I went easy on you. Remember the time before that? You cried like a little baby."

Ingrid, who had also come to visit for the summer laughed, which caused great embarrassment for Felix. It was one thing if it was just him and Glenn arguing, but he'd wanted to impress her somehow. There was something about her that he found noteworthy. The very picture of a knight. He felt the tears pricking at his eyes again. "Am not," he said, his voice breaking.

Ingrid instantly stopped laughing, looking guilty.

Sylvain took his hand and squeezed it. "You're not," he assured him, even though by now the tears were rolling down Felix's cheeks freely.

Glenn made a noise of disgust. "Fine. You're not," he said. He turned to Ingrid. "Want me to teach you more moves with the lance?"

Felix watched, through teary eyes, the way Ingrid's eyelashes fluttered, the way her eyes lowered. She always acted like that around Glenn. Like she wasn't her. Like somehow, she was like the other noble girls that watched them from afar. "I'd love that."

They went off together, leaving Sylvain and Felix alone. Sylvain was still holding on to his hand.

"I don't cry like a little baby," Felix said. 

"No," Sylvain agreed, tugging at his arm so that Felix would face him. He gently cupped his cheeks with both hands and used his thumbs to wipe away at the tears, his light brown eyes looking over his face to see if there was anything else to brush away. 

"Why did you stay?" Felix asked. "Aren't you Glenn's friend?"

Sylvain shrugged and apparently satisfied with his work, dropped his hands. Already, Felix missed the warmth of his hands. Sylvain's palms were not like Glenn's or Father's but more like his mother's - soft, gentle. Glenn often teased the state of Sylvain's hands as the result of skipping out on training sessions and Sylvain had agreed, with a lazy smile on his face. That was Sylvain, always affable. Sometimes it irritated Felix, seeing Sylvain always smiling, never showing anything but that easygoing, carefree attitude.

"Ingrid's not too happy with me right now, so I'm staying clear of her for now," Sylvain admitted, lowering his head. "Last time I was over her house, she was a little mad at something I did."

Felix raised his eyebrows. Ingrid never got mad at him. "What did you do?"

Sylvain's cheeks turned red, and suddenly he was looking at his feet. "I might have told her grandmother she had some... pleasantly shaped body parts. It wouldn't be the first time I've said something like that about her in front of Ingrid. I guess she has every right to be angry."

Felix didn't understand what Sylvain meant. But he nodded as if he understood.

"Do you have a Crest too?" Felix asked, after a moment.

Sylvain looked startled. "What do you mean?"

"A Crest. Father says it's a blessing from the Goddess."

Sylvain gave a wry smile. "It's not entirely clear yet, but Father thinks I do."

And suddenly Felix knew why he had a sad expression earlier. Father had said something about the Gautiers before. About how they were a special family who did things differently when it came to inheriting the estate. Felix didn't entirely understand it himself, but he knew that Miklan, the oldest brother didn't have one, or if he had, it hadn't manifested itself yet. Felix had no idea what it meant for the eldest Gautier.

He'd met Miklan a few times when Felix was younger. He was a few years older than Glenn and often used his age to lord over him, but he always seemed to take Felix's side whenever Glenn teased Felix mercilessly which Felix was grateful for. The last time Felix saw Miklan was several months ago. He was a lot more subdued, more quiet and less inclined to talk. He'd snapped at Sylvain every time the younger Gautier so much as looked in his direction and Sylvain had shrugged his shoulders as if he hadn't cared. Felix wished he could be more like Sylvain, like he didn't care when he was being spoken harshly to.

But it also made Felix grateful to have Glenn as his brother because even if Glenn loved making fun of Felix, he always let Felix follow him around, and they had done everything together. In his own way, Felix knew that Glenn loved him. He just wasn't the best at expressing it.

Looking at Sylvain now, he wondered where Miklan was. He looked out the window. The training grounds had been filled with snow, but probably had been cleared by now.

"Do you want to train together?"

Sylvain shrugged. "I'm not really feeling up for it right now, kiddo."

"Don't you want to become a knight?"

"Not really," Sylvain admitted. "There are better ways of solving issues than fighting it out, don't you think?"

This came as a surprise to Felix. He thought all boys - and Ingrid - wanted to become knights. It was a high honor. "You're crazy!" Felix said. "Being a knight is the best thing there is. You get to go on adventures and fight and people usually like you."

"Oh yeah?" Sylvain looked amused. "What else is there to being a knight?"

"There's honor and chivalry?" This sounded more like a question.

Sylvain shrugged. That seemed to be his favorite thing to do. Shrugging. "What's honor and chivalry if you die? Those things won't help you out."

Felix said stubbornly, "I won't die. And you won't die either if you keep training and get stronger. That's what Glenn says."

Sylvain let out an exasperated breath. "Of _course_ that's what Glenn would say. Sometimes getting stronger isn't enough though, you know? Things happen in battles you can't predict. Accidents. Being outnumbered. Being betrayed by somebody who is supposed to look out for you." His eyes wandered over to his father, his brother.

But Felix shook his head stubbornly. "Not if you and I train together and fight together side by side and get stronger. Then neither of us will die."

"This is a lot of talk of death and fighting for an eight-year-old," Sylvain laughed, his eyes snapping back to Felix.

"You started it," Felix said and couldn't help but sound sullen as he said it. Truthfully, if he thought about death at night, it scared him. Especially these days when he thought of Glenn who was progressing so rapidly through his knight training that the swordmaster had said he would be a knight in three years' time. This had made Father proud because he was planning to send Glenn to personally attend to Prince Dimitri, the heir to Faerghus. 

Felix had also met Prince Dimitri a few times. He couldn't say he was too impressed by him. He was somehow distantly polite, almost like a character out of a book. There was a quality about him Felix had thought, that made him almost untouchable. Felix wasn't sure if this was because that was the way Dimitri was, or if it was because he was the future ruler of Faerghus. When he was with Glenn however, Felix could see that the prince's smiles were truer, more genuine and he seemed eager to want to impress Glenn.

"Then let's make a promise," Sylvain said, who was studying Felix closely again. Felix focused on the present. "Let's promise not to die before the other dies."

Felix shook his head. "But that doesn't make any sense. One of us _has_ to die first. That's just the way of things."

"Not if we pinky promise," Sylvain said solemnly. He stuck out his pinky and, feeling slightly foolish, Felix grasped it with his. 

"Fine," Felix said in a small voice. "I pinky promise."

For a while when he thought of death, he would think of this promise. And he was mollified to think there would be somebody with him in death. And so he told himself death was nothing, that it didn't matter.

Until the day that Glenn died.


	2. the tragedy of duscur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> glenn is dead and felix's world has drastically changed whoda thunk

It was Sylvain who told him what happened.

By this time, Felix's voice was beginning to change and like many other children, it was a difficult, awkward time. He was growing in some places, and not enough in others. His voice would go high sometimes, causing some of the servants around him to laugh, and other times it was deep, mature, conveying strength. The only solution to this, he desperately figured was to adopt a low voice; he fashioned it to be quiet, somewhat smug and tough. Like Glenn's. It never went above a certain decibel. He told himself it would be this way at least until the madness of his voice change was completely over.

He'd been training every single day, focused on one thing and one thing only - to beat Glenn. His brother was supposed to come back for a short visit right before the new year and Felix was supposed to be ready to beat him by then. He could hardly wait. Since being appointed to being a knight, Felix only saw Glenn as much as his father these days and it was lonely with just Mother to keep him company at the Fraldarius mansion.

But then his mother suddenly went to Fhirdiad one day with no note, no warning, and he was left alone at the estate. To distract himself, he threw his whole being into training, the sessions bordering on grueling. Several days later, Sylvain came to visit and when he came, he was a welcome sight for Felix who was far lonelier by then and welcomed a change from the frenzied bout of training he'd thrown himself into to distract himself.

He watched the youngest Gautier ride through the gates. Sylvain was better at riding horses than Glenn or Felix. He wasn't _as_ good as Ingrid who could ride circles around all the boys and did unusually well with pegasi even for a woman, but Felix had thought there was an easy grace to watching Sylvain on a horse, his bright hair contrasting with the dark coat of his horse. Sylvain always preferred black horses, something Felix privately felt was purely for aesthetic purposes. Sylvain had an eye for things that looked good, after all.

Sylvain's hair was messy as usual, a stark contrast of red against the white backdrop of the perpetual snow that gathered on estate grounds. Upon their eyes locking on each other, he slid from the horse in one fluid motion and rushed to Felix, the foot-deep snow on the ground making it harder to trudge through, but he eventually got to Felix and threw his arms around him, burrowing his face into the crook of his neck. His hands slid, one to his waist, the other around his shoulders and he pressed Felix to him, pressing his body close to him and Felix felt himself growing hot at the sudden contact. He told himself it was merely body heat. Sylvain was just a childhood friend after all.

Sylvain was tall, taller even than Glenn, and so he had to hunch down a little and position his body around Felix. He didn't seem to mind fitting his body like that though. "I'm so sorry," he was murmuring into Felix's ear and despite himself, Felix felt a small curl of desire spark in his chest at Sylvain's warm breath against his ear.

"Hello to you too," Felix said, smiling, despite himself. He kept his voice low. "But why are you apologizing?"

Sylvain drew back, confusion written on his face. Sylvain's face was leaner now at fifteen years old, his jawline more prominent. His eyes were still the same though, slanted a little downward to give him an eternally kind, sympathetic look. They were still that same shade of brown, so common among the population and yet so warm to look at in contrast with the whites and grays of Faerghus. "Your mother didn't tell you?"

His mother _had_ looked worried, her face ashen when she'd left. But Felix had assumed it had something to do with Father who had been spending more and more time with King Lambert lately, a result of some secret major policy change that Felix didn't know the exact details about. 

Felix shook his head.

"Felix, King Lambert is dead. Lady Patricia is too, though the word is they haven't found her body yet."

Felix blinked uncomprehendingly. His first thought was, what that meant for Faerghus. Prince Dimitri was only around his age, and therefore too young to assume the throne. But it didn't matter too much for Felix, who had assumed that no matter what happened the Fraldarius estates would still be the same. Theirs was an ancient family, after all, tracing their lineage to the beginning of Fódlan. There was no way their lands would be seized if there was a shift in power, and even if there was, the Fraldarius family would survive just as they'd always done.

"Prince Dimitri is still alive then?" he asked. It must be a horrible thing to be an orphan, he thought to himself and tried to imagine it.

Sylvain nodded. "But... Felix..." and here, Sylvain paused. "Glenn..."

And suddenly Felix knew. He wasn't sure how he knew, just that he did. He let go of Sylvain, his heart beating fast, his fingers and toes growing a different kind of cold. He took a step backward. "He didn't make it either, did he?" he asked through numb lips.

Sylvain only looked at him helplessly, giving him all the confirmation he needed in that one look.

It couldn't be true. Glenn _couldn't_ be dead. Not Glenn who allowed Felix to follow him everywhere with a grudging smile on his face. Not Glenn whose cool, slate gray eyes sparkled with malice whenever he delivered a witty insult with aplomb. Not Glenn who hid his taste of sweets well, who would look over ledgers with Father, tapping his foot impatiently. He was too proud to be dead.

He was so full of life, so strong. The minor Crest of Fraldarius had just manifested itself on him, and he was beginning to control its power. Felix had it drilled in him that those with Crests were virtually unbeatable once they mastered how to use it.

He would come back before the new year, Felix thought to himself, as Sylvain reached for him again. Felix neatly dodged him. "Thank you for bringing me the news." His lips were numb and he didn't think it was from the cold.

When Glenn returned, he thought to himself, he would beat him. And he would be better than him.

* * *

Glenn did return a day later, but when he returned it was in a casket. Felix refused to look at the body. He didn't want to confirm it was real.

Felix heard Mother's sobs but she took great pains to never cry around him, but he knew it every time he saw her. The whites of her eyes were red, and when she walked it was with her head hung low. At the service, Father had risen to the podium to deliver a eulogy, his handsome face only slightly worn out, dark shadows under his eyes, contrasting with the paleness of his skin. Felix didn't hear a lot of it, but the gist of it seemed to be that Glenn had been a worthy heir, a man worthy of knightly ideals, that he was brave and that because of him, the Blaiddyd legacy would live on and Faerghus was stronger than ever.

There had been a strange buzzing noise in his ears since the casket had arrived and he found it difficult to concentrate when he heard that.

There were many people at the funeral, people Felix hadn't seen before and somehow they all knew Glenn. How was it that his brother, so sharp-tongued, sarcastic, and scornful, had attracted so many people toward him, had managed to get so many people to mourn him? There had to be some sort of animalistic instinct to it, he thought to himself. These people had looked up to him for his strength.

Prince Dimitri was at the funeral too. And there it was, a polite smile on his face, a smile that clashed with the blankness of the frozen blue in his eyes. Felix felt angry looking at his face. It was Prince Dimitri's fault Glenn was dead, after all.

When they lowered the casket into the ground, Father said something with a sad, bittersweet smile on his face. "He died like a true knight."

And something in Felix's mind snapped because finally, _finally,_ he accepted that Glenn wasn't coming home. Because he had died. He had died a knight. 

A true knight. What was a true knight? What had that meant?

He stole a glance at Prince Dimitri who looked momentarily stricken by that comment, the weariness in his eyes overtaken by something strange, almost guilty. 

Father put his hand on Felix's shoulder, who brushed it off and went to go stand next to his mother.

* * *

"Felix, isn't it?" Prince Dimitri asked. "Your brother spoke often of you."

He was staying the night here, which Felix found especially irritating. Father had decided to take him in now that Prince Dimitri's uncle was now regent and had little time for his nephew. Father had been the first to offer to take him in and the Regent, King Rufus, seemed too relieved to hand him over to them.

Felix ignored Prince Dimitri. He'd been trying to catch his eye all through dinner, and now had worked up the courage to talk to him, it seemed. 

"He used to say how powerful you were. And sometimes he'd worry you'd be able to best him."

"That coward died before I could test it out." The words were out before Felix could stop them, and they were not words he would have said before, but somehow it was deeply comforting to him and he wasn't sure why. A small part of him was horrified at what he'd said, but a larger part, the part that was angry at how unfair the world was, didn't care.

Prince Dimitri was surprised. "That is no way to speak of Glenn-"

"Why?" Felix spat at him. "Because he died like a true knight?"

Prince Dimitri opened and closed his mouth several times. "Do you wish to know the truth?" he asked.

"I don't care," Felix said, but as he looked at this prince, pampered his whole life, suddenly he wished to cause him pain. He wanted Prince Dimitri to recount the slaughter, if only because it would cause him undeniable pain that he deserved. There was savagery in that wish, Felix dimly realized, but he didn't care.

"It happened so quickly, there was no time to die like a knight. And it was so very bloody. There was blood everywhere. Your brother was dead before I even understood what had happened before I think he even understood what was happening. And I..." he trailed off. 

"And you?" Felix prompted him coldly.

"I'm ashamed to say that I hid underneath his body and waited for the bloodbath to be over. I never want to feel that way again."

Felix laughed in a voice that was unlike his own. "So you were smart then. I would have done the same." Where were these sentences coming from? Would he have hidden underneath a dead body? A best friend? Would he have been craven?

Prince Dimitri regarded him with some more surprise. "I had thought you different."

"Like how?"

"Different from Glenn, but you... you remind me of him," he said, his voice curiously emotional. "In so many different ways."

* * *

They weren't friends after that, but Felix caught Prince Dimitri several times following him, watching him train.

He felt sorry for him, but those moments that he did never lasted long before they were replaced by irritation and anger that was difficult to quell. Felix was unflinchingly angry these days, driving everyone away which was just as well. Mother had become practically despondent and hardly said a word. Sometimes she would smile tremulously, but that was all. She ate and drank very little, and when she did, she chewed and swallowed mechanically, as if she could no longer felt the joy of tasting what was in her mouth.

For his part Father spent long periods of time in Blaiddyd territory, managing the affairs of the estate, before switching to Fhirdiad to counsel Crown Regent Rufus on affairs. Each one of those visits, Felix noted, left him in a state weariness. It seemed as though this new king was not what anyone had hoped for and it was one day that Father set Felix aside.

"My son," he said after dinner when he was home. "I must tell you that now that Glenn has passed, control of Fraldarius territory will pass to you, and you must be prepared for it."

Felix frowned. "Why? I do not wish to manage the estate. There are other things I wish to do. More important things." He had never envied Glenn for inheriting the estate, had welcomed the independent life of never having to be responsible for anything. He watched Father's face change, his dark gray eyes showing displeasure at his son's questioning.

"And what could be more important to you than managing the estates and the people here?"

Felix stared at him for one long moment. "It's a responsibility I don't want."

"Whether you like it or not it will pass to you. It is your duty. Your brother realized that. It's high time you did too."

_Duty_. He hated that word. Was that the thing that had killed Glenn? He said nothing but glared at his father. "You disgust me," he said, wanting, no _hoping_ his father would yell at him.

But his father only passed a hand over his face. "That makes the two of us," he said, mostly to himself, and said no more after that. 

Long after Father was gone, Dimitri asked if he could sleep in Felix's room. He'd been asking for nearly half the time he was here and at first, Felix had said no but eventually grew tired of saying no and allowed Dimitri to sleep on the floor next to him.

This night however Dimitri climbed into bed with Felix, slipping underneath Felix's covers, much to Felix's protest. They fell on deaf ears.

"I'm sorry," Dimitri said, "But I cannot be alone. Not tonight. The voices are louder today. I need something to ground me."

"You're not alone, you're in my room," Felix said, but he didn't protest after that. He had no idea what Dimitri meant by the voices, and he wasn't sure he cared to know.

Dimitri took a deep breath. He'd cut his hair in the back and sides but left it a little long in the front. Now, his hair flopped over his forehead, as he stared at Felix with those icy eyes. "I am grateful for everything your family has done for me," he said. 

Felix wanted to say it was nothing, that to his father, Dimitri was family, but all that came out was a scornful, "Gratitude does nothing." Saying things like that somehow comforted him.

Dimitri sighed. "You don't have to do that."

"Do what?"

He turned away, on his back to stare into the darkness. "Nevermind."

Felix stayed on his side, watching him. He was quite handsome if you considered his profile. He had a well-defined jaw, a perfectly long nose, and his lips were neither too plump nor too thin. They naturally curved upward slightly as though he were enjoying some private joke. What was jarring about that of course, was that his eyes never seemed to smile, never seemed to do anything except stare frozenly at everyone and everything, as though he were blank, uncomprehending of anyone's feelings around him.

He could see how Glenn would be fascinated by Dimitri. At first glance, there seemed to be nothing interesting about him. One had to look closer to see there was more than met the eye. Without thinking, he reached his hand over and smoothed Dimitri's hair back, away from his forehead.

Dimitri flinched at the sudden contact, then relaxed into it. Felix retreated his hand, feeling unendingly foolish that he'd done this unprompted. But Dimitri hadn't seemed to mind.

"They're planning a surprise invasion at Duscur soon," Dimitri said quietly, still looking up. "It is madness."

"Isn't Duscur responsible for killing your parents?"

"That is what everyone says," Dimitri agreed. "But truthfully, I think there was more to it than Duscur. I try to remember what happened that day and..." he sighs. "They should not be held responsible for it, but the people are restless. Somebody must be held accountable and one or two of the prisoners caught in the aftermath were from Duscur, so it seems easy enough to blame them, especially since we've never had the best relationship before my father ruled."

Felix didn't understand politics but he said, "Can't you put a stop to it if you know the truth? You're the future ruler."

"Would that I could," Dimitri said. "Nobody wants to listen to what I have to say until at least I turn 18 and assume the throne. For now, they just want to blame somebody, and my uncle is desperate to give them what they want. My uncle does not seem to care about an investigation," he finished bitterly, before sighing again. "I am sorry, my uncle is a good man and yet... well, I am sure he is doing his best."

"You don't have to defend him if he's a bad ruler," Felix said. 

"He's my family. The only family I have left," the prince responded automatically.

"You're allowed to feel things that are different from how people expect you to feel," Felix said. "Regardless of who they are."

Dimitri turned to Felix, his eyes unfrozen just a little. He moved a little closer to Felix, so that he was at the edge of his pillow. "Thank you, Glenn," he said, and made the correction so fast that Felix realized he might have incorrectly heard it the first time. "Felix."

There's a beat of silence before Felix began to process this.

So he missed him too, Felix thought, and maybe now he might have had a bit of a glimpse into what their relationship might have been like. There was so much pain in Dimitri's eyes, that Felix heard himself say, "It's all right."

Dimitri said nothing, but he did slide closer and smooth out Felix's hair. It was longer now, straighter, like his mother's. He settled into this feeling of Dimitri combing his fingers through his hair, feeling his heartbeat quicken at the contact, wondering what unspeakable things it meant. He slid closer to Dimitri, giving him easier contact to touch his hair, pressing his body to Dimitri's and that was how he eventually fell asleep.

* * *

Dimitri was gone on the day Faerghus decided to exact vengeance from Duscur. Father was gone too and Felix once again stayed home.

It suddenly occurred to him that he had never seen actual bloodshed before. He was almost fourteen. It should be high-time that he did. Glenn saw his first battle when he was fifteen after all when he had to suppress a rebellion in the Western Church. 

Felix was determined to be better than him. 

When Dimitri came back, he did not come back alone. There was a man, accompanying him with a Duscurian face. Snow white, bristly hair that looked unwashed for days, contrasted shockingly against the darkness of his skin. He was gigantic and tall, but also muscular enough to back up that tallness. He had an unusually stern face, the tilt of his mouth and the heavy set of his brow contributing to that. Only one of his ears was pierced, and dangling from that ear was an earring shaped like some kind of insect, its wings outstretched.

The man, for he could not be a boy Felix deduced, didn't speak at all. Dimitri introduced him as Dedue Molinaro. Felix almost smirked at how silly the name sounded but caught himself, looking at his eyes. They were a lush green, and behind the stern set of his brow, they looked unspeakably gentle and sad.

For the next few weeks, Dedue stayed on Fraldarius grounds, never saying a word around the time the snow melted into spring. Dimitri did not sleep in Felix's room but spent an inordinate amount of time with him. If Dimitri was anywhere else, Dedue followed, like a shadow at his heels. 

Felix abhorred it.

It wasn't as if he liked the stupid prince, he thought to himself savagely as he shoved his sword into the practice dummy in front of him. But it would have been nice not to feel so... discarded. 

It turned out that Ingrid didn't like Dedue either. "How could you let _that_ man into _your_ house?" she seethed at him one night when the Fraldariuses hosted a dinner party. Ingrid was wearing a black dress, the same one she had worn to the funeral, and the same one he had seen several times now when she'd come to visit. The veil she usually wore when out in public was gone. Felix had met Ingrid's father on several occasions. The Count of Galatea was shrewd and did seem to care for his daughter, but above all else was strict on appearances. Since Ingrid was only betrothed to Glenn and they hadn't wed yet, the requisite mourning period of time was six months which meant another two months of wearing black clothes and a veil until she was allowed to wear whatever she wanted but Ingrid must have fought her father on the veil part since she wasn't wearing it today.

If he looked closer, he could see all the places that it had to be patched up, but when he looked from afar Ingrid looked beautiful even when angry.

Felix shrugged. "Dimitri wanted him and so Father let him."

Ingrid folded her arms across her chest. "_His HIghness_ wanted him? Is he crazy?" She looked at him in disbelief, as if not hearing the truth of his words.

"Dimitri doesn't seem to think Duscur was to blame."

"The tragedy has clouded his mind," Ingrid said, her voice trembling. She looked ready to snap, but at that very moment, Sylvain put an arm around her shoulder.

"Thought I might find you here, 'Grid," Sylvain said cheerfully.

"Don't call me that," she snapped.

"What if I wanted to tell you that there are still a few _pirozhkis_ left? I've heard some of them are stuffed with Daphnel chicken."

Ingrid looked surprised. "_Pirozhkis_? In this season?" She waited a moment, as though she were trying to act proper, as though she were trying to resist the temptation of food and then gave up. "Where?"

Sylvain winked at Felix before leading her off, leaving Felix alone.

Which was just as well. He could observe the guests better this way. He watched his father laugh uproariously at something a knight with a Seiros emblem emblazoned on his cape said. His father was still handsome, but he looked more tired and worn out these days and he was gone for longer periods of time. Even when he was here, Felix found himself avoiding his father. If Rodrigue Fraldarius found him, he often would ask Felix about the estate and about the people, things that ultimately bored Felix. He didn't _want_ to inherit the estate and thinking about it was like a burden. Rodrigue never asked Felix about his own wellbeing. It was just as well, Felix thought. He didn't think he could stand his father asking him what was the matter with him. 

His mother, on the other hand, had completely excused herself from the dinner party at all, stating that it was inappropriate for the Fraldariuses to even host one only months after their son's death. Even though his father had planned the whole thing to be a somber affair, and had tried to convince his wife to attend, she was stubborn in her refusal to attend. Felix privately felt she would never come out again into society. His mother was less than a whisper of what she once was. Her golden eyes had dulled, and she'd grown gaunt, barely eating anything. In desperation, Felix had tried to keep her company but it was like his mother no longer saw him there, no longer believed she had any children left and Felix couldn't help but distance himself from her either.

While many of the nobles flocked to Dimitri, none of them said a word to Dedue, though many stared openly and shamelessly at the man from Duscur. Felix had overheard quite a few of them wonder about his presence aloud.

"I've heard some Duscur people practice some sort of black magic involving blood, sacrifice, and the making of dolls using human hair and nails," a lady, Felix presumed a lesser noble from Gideon's territory, gabbed, "Wouldn't be surprised if that man's controlling our future Royal Highness."

"People from Duscur?" a rich merchant from Teutates proclaimed. "Practicing magic? No way, the goddess wouldn't bless them with any magic. They're heathens, the lot of them. I've met a few before they were wiped out. They're too stupid to know how to use magic. This one's all on His Highness. He's reaching a rebellious stage, the lad is. The tragedy's been hard on the boy, if he acts out a bit by having a Duscur man be his retainer, then so be it. He'll eventually outgrow him and choose somebody more worthy to attend and advise him."

"Well, if that happens, my nephew would be available to happily take that spot," the woman said, and Felix almost laughed.

The merchant laughed at her ridiculousness too. "Fat chance. If anyone's going to be his new retainer it'd be the next Fraldarius boy."

Felix froze at this.

The Gideon lady scoffed. "How can that be fair? The Blaiddyds can't keep the Fraldariuses at their side forever."

"They have for generations."

"And look how that's served them. A murdered king and queen."

The merchant sobered. "I don't disagree with you. There needs to be different blood advising the Blaiddyds and if _I_ were running this kingdom I'd see to it. But royalty often gets things wrong. Why else do you think Lord Rodrigue offered to keep the boy before anyone else could swoop in to foster him at Prince Dimitri's most vulnerable time? It couldn't have been just out of the goodness of his heart. He's trying to get those boys a closer relationship to ensure that his family is still the second most important family in the kingdom. When Prince Dimitri takes the throne, he will definitely look at the Fraldariuses in a better light. It's a calculated move, but Lord Rodrigue is a smart man. You don't get to be where you are by _not_ making a few moves like that. I'll bet Glenn understood this too. The Fraldariuses... they're all an ambitious lot. I've heard it said Lord Rodrigue considers the Crown Prince more of a son than his own. He does spend more time in service of Blaiddyds after all."

Felix turned away, his limbs like ice. He knew better than to listen to gossip, especially ones that borne of jealousy and pure speculation, but a seed of doubt had planted in his head. It was possible that his father loved Dimitri like his own son, but couldn't it also be possible that he was hoping for more political power by taking Dimitri in?

There was suddenly a bitter taste in his mouth, and when he looked up he found the source of it, frozen blue eyes, staring right back at him.


	3. the boar prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> da boiz (dimitri and felix) get their first taste of battle and dimitri might like it a little too much. bois will b bois amirite.

Dimitri made the decision to eventually move back to Fhirdiad. He took nobody but Dedue back with him.

Felix told himself he wouldn't miss him, but there was some part of him that ached watching the prince pack his things.

On the last night of the crown prince's stay, Felix heard a knock at his door and he opened it, knowing who would be behind it and despising himself for the way his heart quickened in anticipation.

It was Dimitri but he was alone. No Dedue in sight. He blinked, staring about him, but his vassal wasn't there. It was just Dimitri, his blond hair brushed away from his face, his cheeks slightly pink.

Dimitri laughed. "Please, it is just me. Won't you let me in?"

Felix obliged wordlessly, stepping aside, wondering if the shock had shown on his face. Whether anything else had shown on his face. 

"I thought I might spend the night here, like old times," Dimitri said.

Felix wanted to point out that "old times" was only a few months ago, but bit back this sardonic reply. He didn't think he would ever see Dimitri in his room like this once Dedue had come into their lives. "Do as you wish," he said, instead.

Dimitri smiled a little. It was an especially sad little smile. "You're a good person, Felix."

He didn't know how to respond to that because he didn't think he was a good person at all. He turned away from him to shut the door, his heart throbbing. The door closing both of them within his room made him nervous, though he was not sure why.

"If I have need of you, would you be there for me as your brother once was?" Dimitri asked.

Felix turned to face him. "How do you mean?"

Dimitri shook his head, some of his hair falling into his face. A shadow had fallen over his features. "Faerghus is in trouble now more than ever. The Western Church becomes more and more reckless each day, opposing the Church of Seiros. It is madness that we would defend the Church. It certainly is not the way things would have been done in the Adrestrian Empire or the Alliance, but because the Church and the Kingdom rule Faerghus together... It may come to quell the rebellion using more... aggressive tactics."

"You mean battle," Felix said, tilting his head. 

Dimitri nodded. "I do not wish to cause more bloodshed, but we may have no choice. My Uncle Rufus says this is the perfect time for my maiden battle as commander, and I can't say I disagree. My father was only several years older than me when he went on his." 

He wanted to point out that King Lambert had graduated from Garreg Mach by the time he went on his first maiden battle, but couldn't. Something was roaring in Felix's blood at the mention of battle. He would realize later on it was excitement. Days of preparing and training with the sword, and now it had come to this. The first real promise of being in an environment that was life or death. He was tired of being bored, tired of going through the dozens of ledgers his father had left behind for him. He wanted action.

"I will come with you," Felix said.

A shadow of relief crossed Dimitri's face. He gripped Felix's arms in gratitude. "Thank you, Felix. It means a lot to me."

Felix felt the warmth and urgency of his grip. "I'm not doing it for you," he said, but it was only half a lie. 

Dimitri chuckled and stepped closer. Felix could see his eyelashes. They were not light yellow like his hair, but a shade darker, like burnt gold, long and slightly curled at the end. The dim lighting from the crackling fire made it hard to appreciate Dimitri's eyes for the ice that they usually were - now they appeared almost a dark shade of violet. "I know," he said, his voice a little rough in an attempt to quiet itself. "But I am happy, all the same."

Felix swallowed. Dimitri still hadn't let go of his arms, but his thumbs were moving in an up and down motion against his arms as if he was caressing Felix. He closed his eyes, trying to will himself to move away.

This was bad. It was very bad, the effect Dimitri had on him. The effect of this prince, who had hidden underneath his dead brother's corpse while the bloodbath of his family and friends occurred. The effect of this future ruler, who had saved a man from a country responsible for killing his parents. The effect of this prince who was devastatingly handsome and may have possibly been in love with his brother.

There was a beat of silence, and Felix opened his eyes halfway, to stare at Dimitri. Who was staring back at him.

"Well?" Felix asked, through his own half-lidded stare. "Aren't you going to kiss me?"

He watched the apple at Dimitri's throat bob - he was swallowing. He placed his hand at the back of Felix's head and tugged at his ponytail. An instant later, his hair fell loose about his shoulders. Dimitri's hand threaded through Felix's hair, combing through it as he had when he'd spent the first night in Felix's bed. Then he leaned forward and his mouth was on Felix's.

And Felix thought, if his heart was to be devoured, it wouldn't be so bad if it was by a prince.

He let Dimitri lead at first, it seemed as though he knew more about what to do than Felix did, with the way his mouth moved against Felix's. A few moments later, Felix tried to mimic his motions. Dimitri's lips were slightly wet and they were soft and they were so warm and they felt so good.

Dimitri broke away a little. "A little slower. It's not a competition. Like this," he whispered against his lips, his breath hot and heavy against Felix's lips.

This time, Felix tried to match the rhythm Dimitri set. It was a little like dancing, something Felix wasn't exceptionally good at, and he remembered from an early age that Dimitri too, was a horrible dancer. 

But now, Dimitri wrapped an arm around Felix's waist, pulling him against him, his hand flattening against Felix's back, his fingers spread apart. Felix clutched at the front of Dimitri's shirt, his other hand found his cheek, sliding down to his shoulder, then winding his fingers around the nape of his neck. 

And they kissed and kissed until their lips were swollen.

* * *

The ache Felix felt when Dimitri left, was felt far more than he would have cared to admit in the ensuing weeks. It throbbed through his whole being in waves, at its highest almost unbearable, at its lowest just a dull but very present ache. He could think little else but of the prince.

He searched for his pale hair, for his eyes. He even searched for the man from Duscur, knowing that if he were to find him, Dimitri would not be far behind. He was fully aware that they were both gone. Whenever he reminded himself of this, he would touch his lips, remembering the way Dimitri had pressed his lips against his, analyzing the weight, the warmth, the dampness, everything. His kisses were patient, his fingers skillful as they traced his spine. At some point, Felix had recalled, he'd even stuck his tongue in Felix's mouth. That had felt strange at first, but eventually, he grew to like it, to respond to the prince's tongue with his own.

Felix didn't know what to make of it all, whenever he caught himself replaying this memory over and over.

He had fantasized before about men and women. Mostly men, though once in a blue moon his wet dreams had involved him having sex with fragile, inexperienced women.

But mostly men.

It never really affected him the way it did now. Those dreams past would be nothing but a waking moment in the morning. He would dwell upon it waking up, then reach between his legs and realize he'd ejaculated, or was painfully hard and needed his hand to finish the job.

He'd never asked Glenn about this aspect of his life either. He had been fearful that Glenn would make fun of him and with the way things were between his father and him, he knew he didn't want to go to him either. 

He turned then, to the only person who he felt he could trust about such matters.

He went to visit Sylvain then and he was just as Felix had remembered him, his grin cheerful, his cinnamon brown eyes looking delighted to see Felix. "Been a while, huh?" he asked.

Felix shrugged, but secretly he was glad for Sylvain's presence. He was an anomaly to Felix. He felt safe around the younger Gautier boy despite the fact that Sylvain's own life always seemed in disarray, though mostly by Sylvain's own choices. "Want to train?"

"Actually, I was hoping for a game of chess."

Felix wrinkled his nose. He hated chess. Also, Sylvain was entirely too good at it to even be fun for competitive purposes. Felix sensed that Sylvain must be even better at it than he let on because the matches always ran very close, no matter the opponent be Dimitri, who was supposedly decent at it, to Ingrid and Felix who were decidedly not, but for different purposes (Ingrid hated sacrificing any of her pawns while Felix got impatient with the game and felt it was too boring to think through all his moves).

But chess was also a good way to converse, and so Felix got out the familiar gray and black steel chessboard that hadn't been brought out since the third-to-last time Felix had come to visit. He dusted off the board and set up the pieces, taking the gray for himself.

"How are things here?" he asked moving one of his pawns up. The Gautier castle was different from the Fraldarius mansion. The castle's exterior was made of black brick and had a menacing look to it. It was also heavily fortified. Such was the consequence of the family that bordered Sreng where it seemed almost every month there was a new attempt of invasion. Felix had met Margrave Gautier and he was a stark contrast to Sylvain's easy, carefree personality. Sometimes, Felix wished he had a father like Sylvain's, hard-headed, battle-hardened, and strict but everpresent in Sylvain's life. It was a contrast to his own father who was never around and when he was, let Felix do whatever he wished so long as he managed part of the ledgers.

"They're as okay as can be," Sylvain said. "I kind of want to go to Brigid when it's warmer."

"Don't you hate the heat?"

Sylvain smiled, propping his chin on his fist as he pored over the board. "Yes, but think of the _women, _Felix."

Felix nodded as if he understood.

"I've heard they wear short skirts and bare their navels and arms. Not like the women here who are all covered up due to the cold."

Ah, so that's what this was about. Felix struck down one of Sylvain's pawns. "You'll get yourself in trouble there too," he said.

"It'd be worth it," Sylvain said, grinning. "I've met the princess of Brigid before once, you know. She was in the Adrestrian capital when my father and I went there on business once. She was pretty cute. One of a kind. If all Brigid women look like her, it wouldn't be too bad. You should come with me. You could use the experience." He swiftly lined his bishop up so it was poised to take out one of Felix's pawns.

"Experience in _what_?" 

"Romance. Women. Kissing. Sex. Dancing. Do you think about anything aside from using a sword?" Sylvain looked exasperated.

Felix thought about a lot of things. "I have some experience with that," Felix muttered, and unbidden he thought of Dimitri once more. It had to be at least the hundredth time today alone. And when he thought of Dimitri this time, he remembered that at some point, Felix had bit the prince's lower lip and Dimitri had let out an involuntary noise.

Sylvain was staring at him, his mouth slightly open, slightly disbelieving. "You? You're bluffing."

Felix crossed his arms. "Believe what you wish," he said, staring Sylvain down, though he was aware of the blush creeping up his neck.

"You _are_ serious," Sylvain said, started. His eyebrows dipped momentarily, displeased. 

"No need to look so jealous," Felix muttered, moving his bishop into position. "Check," he added.

Sylvain wasn't looking at the board anymore. "Who was she?" he asked. 

"That's none of your business." Felix would never admit that it was Dimitri. For one, he had no idea how Sylvain would react to the fact that he'd kissed the crown prince. For another, it seemed that Sylvain was exclusively into women. He never so much as insinuated that he was into men. He didn't think Sylvain would treat him differently if he said he was into men. Sylvain wouldn't do that. Still, all the same, Felix didn't want to expose his life unless he had to. He wasn't like Sylvain who didn't care who was exposed to his affairs.

There was also the fact that Felix had no idea what kissing Dimitri meant in the future; like for example, whether it would happen again, though Felix certainly wanted it to. As nobles, they were all expected to take on a female as a wife to produce an heir, but this didn't necessarily mean that they couldn't be together. The implications of that stretched too far in the future, and it made Felix's head hurt. He never thought of the future, only the present.

"At least give me a hint."

"No," Felix said. "Make your move."

Sylvain barely glanced at the board before moving his king out of harm's way. "It wasn't _Ingrid_ was it?"

Ingrid had been visiting House Fraldarius a lot more often since the death of Glenn, no doubt on the orders of her father who knew Dimitri had been staying there, but it had been nice to see her all the same and Ingrid hadn't minded herself because it meant she got to train more and not wear dresses on Fraldarius grounds. She'd often remarked that the Fraldariuses were like her second family and Felix had to admit that his mother's spirits often improved when Ingrid stayed over. 

Felix moved his rook down, putting Sylvain's king in harm's way once again. "Does _that_ bother you?" he mused. He had seen Sylvain on more than one count flirt with Ingrid, and she had shot him down each time. He had been under the impression that Sylvain did that strictly to irritate Ingrid, which was one of his favorite past times but wasn't sure if perhaps there was more to it than simply annoying Ingrid. Somehow the thought of him possibly being interested in Ingrid, bothered him. But only slightly. "Check again."

"It bothers me how cagey you're being about some noblewoman," Sylvain said, moving his king upward, again out of harm's way. "I can't really see you being with Ingrid though." Sylvain frowned. "Is this girl at least pretty? What is it you like about her?"

Felix thought about it. "I can't explain what it is," he said carefully. "But I guess I'm just very aware of their presence." There was, of course, his eyes, and his hair and his lips and the broad warmth of his chest he'd felt when his own knuckles had brushed against him when he'd clutched Dimitri's nightshirt in his fist. The way Dimitri breathed so shallow when he was truly asleep. But these things, Felix did not say. He would keep them close to his heart.

Sylvain moved his king to the left. "Checkmate." He stood up, crossing his arms. "Are you at least being safe?"

"Safe?" Felix blinked. He looked at the board. Somehow, Sylvain had maneuvered Felix's rook and bishop out of the way by using his king as bait, leaving Felix's king cornered by Sylvain's queen and rook. Damn him, how hadn't he seen this coming? This only confirmed that Sylvain was obviously so much smarter than he ever let on. It unnerved Felix who had only ever known Sylvain to blunder and coast his way by.

"Yeah. Safe sex. Pulling out, using a sleeve, what have you," Sylvain said, as though this were all obvious. "You wouldn't want to get her pregnant or catch any venereal disease."

"Goddess, I'm not having sex, Sylvain!" Felix cried out in shock, his voice loud. "I was talking about kissing."

Sylvain held a triumphant grin. "Aha, so it was just a little bit of making out," he said, and Felix groaned. Sylvain's true objective was obviously to find out how experienced Felix was and he'd gotten it out of him.

"Yes," Felix said, heat overcoming his face.

Sylvain shoved him slightly. "I knew you had a heart in you after all."

Felix rolled his eyes. "It was a mistake coming here."

"I'm glad you did, Felix," Sylvain said, and there was a hint of truth in his voice that belied something sad. "I missed having you around."

Felix wanted to say he missed Sylvain too, but he did not. There was a beat of silence before Felix dared ask, "How is Miklan?"

Sylvain shrugged, not meeting Felix's eyes. "Terrible. But what else is new?"

Miklan had changed the past couple of years and Felix was almost certain it had to do with the fact that Sylvain's Crest was manifesting slowly but surely. A minor Crest, but a Crest nonetheless. By now, Felix knew that House Gautier first requirement was not the first-born, but rather the first in line who bore a Crest. This was mostly because Margrave Gautier was solely responsible for driving off Sreng invaders. 

Felix understood it to some degree, though he'd come to realize that Crests weren't the only path to absolute strength. Though Felix's swordmaster was insistent that Felix bore a Crest, Felix had yet to use his.

"Is he home?" Felix asked now.

Sylvain shook his head. "He's been gone a while now with a new set of friends he's made. Father's furious, but I can't say I'm not relieved he's gone."

Felix pressed his lips together tightly. He wanted to defend Miklan because he knew it was unfair what had happened to Miklan. 

"He's not Glenn," Sylvain said, noticing his expression. "We barely had a relationship beyond Miklan trying to off me."

Felix flinched at how casually Sylvain had said his brother's name. He hadn't heard anyone speaking Glenn's name in some time. Not from his mother who had barely spoke a word since news of his death, and if his father ever had, Felix wasn't around to hear it. He could tell sometimes that Ingrid wanted to talk about him, but he felt uncomfortable talking about Glenn to her. He knew that they must have had some kind of relationship but it disgusted him, even in his death, to hear of his romantic ventures, especially toward Ingrid whom Felix viewed as a sister.

"Miklan was always nice to me," Felix said now.

"Only because he loved a good underdog," Sylvain said. "I guess he sees himself as one." His voice was light, but his expression had darkened slightly.

"You're calling me an underdog?" Felix said.

Sylvain smiled. "You're still a bit of a crybaby and you haven't even seen battle yet."

"Neither have you," Felix pointed out.

Sylvain threw his hands up in surrender. "You got me there."

"And I will soon enough see battle."

* * *

Soon enough was almost a week later. Felix got a short message from Dimitri. There was nothing in it to suggest any feelings between them.

_The Western Church has revolted. The Kingdom could use your strength._

_Crown Prince Dimitri Alexander Blaiyddyd_

His own name was half of the actual message. Felix read and reread the message slowly. He crumpled it into his fist. His father had no qualms about letting him go. Of course, as it was Dimitri, he wouldn't care. 

His mother was a different story. He had crept into her room. She had changed drastically in the year since Glenn's death. Lack of sunlight had rendered her already pale face into something far more sallow, and she'd lost too much weight in a short amount of time so her skin hung down her cheeks. Her hair, usually shiny and black sported streaks of gray in them and hung limply down her back as though it hadn't been washed or combed through since the news of Glenn had first appeared. Her amber eyes stared despondently at the snow outside her window, but she at least smiled a little upon seeing Felix. She always had when he came to visit which was becoming increasingly sporadic as time went on and Felix could barely stand to see her like this.

She was wearing a silken sleeping gown and half her body was under the covers. She had propped herself against the pillows which had been arranged to help her sit up better.

"Come, my son," she said tremulously, holding her bony arms out, and Felix went to her obediently. She hugged him to her chest and he smelled her skin and the layers of dried sweat it had accumulated over months. He was at once sorry for her, and angry that she had allowed herself to waste away like this. That his father allowed for this to happen. She drew him back so she could look at him through the gloom in the room, touching his face tenderly.

"You've grown since you last were here."

"I'm but a man now, mother."

She sent him a shaky smile. "Do not grow up too fast, my Lixy." 

He breathed deeply, staring into her eyes which were so like his own. How could he tell her he was going off to battle when she was in this state? He smoothed her hair back. "It's too late for that," he whispered. 

"Indulge a mother. Do you remember how I used to sing to you before you went to sleep?"

He did, a little. She would sing about the moon and the stars and the frog that hopped across the night sky to find the perfect lilypad. He had been four or five, and six years old when he'd asked her to stop and she'd laughed but her eyes were sad when she complied. "I don't remember," he lied to her. "Could you sing it for me again?"

And so she did. Her voice was not as clear nor smooth as it once was, as she sang the nonsense lyrics and how the frog realized that all along, the lilypad was right in its hometown in Morfis.

When she was done, she fell asleep shortly after and Felix had left without telling her.

There were different kinds of bravery, he thought to himself, his heart weighed down with regret. He was never good at family. Never good at relationships. His strength and bravery lay on the battlefield. 

And even though he loved the battlefield and suppressing the Western Church made his blood sing, he had also seen the horrors of what it was.

* * *

Dimitri and two others were the only ones who led a battalion. The man from Duscur who stood like a shadow behind Dimitri, silent but a looming presence nonetheless, did not have a battalion. And neither did Felix who preferred to be on his own anyway.

Dimitri pored over battle maps. The Western Church troops were half a day's walk away and according to the scout, Dimitri's meager forces gifted to him by the King Regent were not enough. They were vastly outnumbered but somehow Dimitri didn't seem too bothered by it which Felix found most curious.

The man from Duscur suggested a surprise attack which was so very much like him, Felix would think to himself later on. The people from Duscur seemed to love catching people off guard. 

But Dimitri had agreed. Felix, the man from Duscur and Dimitri would be the bait for the Western Church, and the other two men who led battalions would close in on the troops once they drew them in in a pincer-like attack.

It was a good plan, Felix had to admit. It was their best chance at quelling the Western Church troops which, if accounts were accurate, boasted nearly twice the amount of men that Dimitri's forces had.

Dimitri had first sent a missive over to them on their first night, demanding their surrender, but the response to the missive was a training lance brought the following morning. Except there was a dead kitten dipped in dark blue paint speared on it - a likely threat on the future ruler of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Dimitri had stared at the tiny dead thing, his face expressionless, but for a constant twitching in his cheek. Around them, the troops waited with bated breath.

Dimitri's lips tightened for one imperceptible moment. Then he ran his hand over his face, smoothing his bangs back, a smile on his face that was almost unsettling to Felix. 

"If blood is what they want, then blood is what they'll get," Dimitri said in a voice that did not entirely sound like his own. He unstuck the kitten from the spear, held it in his trembling hand. Then he handed it to the man from Duscur and asked him to bury it.

The man from Duscur complied, his expression unchanging, his jaw resolute. Felix wondered if the man from Duscur had ever seen Dimitri like this before. It seemed likely. A stab of jealousy coursed through him for a moment. That he had seen Dimitri in a way Felix hadn't yet, and he'd seen Dimitri like this first.

Felix gripped the pommel of his sword. Since he'd seen Dimitri, the crown prince treated him as a soldier, which irked him. There was no mention of their kissing, indeed no hint of Dimitri ever recalling he'd done such a thing. Felix was too proud to indicate that that was something he'd thought of this whole time and had stayed silent and out of Dimitri's way since.

That night before the battle, he almost expected Dimitri to visit him in his tent, but he did not and so Felix lay awake, listening for footsteps that would never come.

* * *

As Dimitri had promised, the battlefield was indeed a bloodbath. The grass beneath them was ripped to shreds to reveal the earth which was soaked in blood, most of it from the Western Church's forces.

Several important things happened, things that Felix would never forget, images that he remembered in flashes for the rest of his life.

The first was the look on Dimitri's face as he grabbed at a soldier's head that was attempting to run toward one of Dimitri's battalion members and, Felix watched in fascinated revulsion, him snapping his head like it was nothing to him. But for the complete and total fury in those eyes, no longer frozen but filled with lust, Felix did not know what to make of Dimitri, whether or not he was frightened of him... or wanted to be him.

He rushed toward Dimitri, not that the crown prince needed any cover. It was as if he was the Bringer of Death. Wherever he stepped and wherever he stabbed with the lance the Western Church had gifted with the kitten on its end, the more bodies accumulated, their blood soaking the earth, their glassy eyes watching the goddess above or nothing at all. A soft rain began to pour into the battlefield.

It took him a moment to realize, in the chaos of the battlefield, the panic that gripped him, he was _frightened _as much as he was thrilled. In the end, fright won out, and he struggled to get to Dimitri, one hand reaching out to part the sea of people, of bodies, the other gripping his sword tightly. Around him, he felt others crushing in on him, but whether they were ally or foe he could not tell.

The pressure in his chest grew and grew until suddenly he looked upward to the sky, at the falling rain and he felt a surge of incredible strength. He saw the sigil of Fraldarius, eerily blue against the gray of the sky and he swung his sword in one horizontal arc, knocking a swath of enemies around him.

Was _that_ the power of a Crest? He felt snatches of that strength before always just out of reach, but nothing so bold as what he felt now. He had no idea whether Glenn or anyone around him had ever experienced such awesome strength. 

And just as it came, it quickly vanished as well. The Crest of Fraldarius, which had powerfully flashed into the sky, had now vanished and there was suddenly a clear path to Dimitri. Felix had no time to wonder about what the Crest manifestation meant; he would deal with that later. For now, he had to get to Dimitri. He wasn't sure what he would do once he got there, and he had no time to think.

He grabbed Dimitri by the shoulder and spun him around so that they stared at each other face to face. Dimitri's eyes were like blue fire; they raged with such a fury that Felix almost took a step back. His legs and arms were suddenly tired, but he held on to Dimitri.

"You need to control yourself," he yelled over the yells of the warriors, the clang of metal against metal, the anguished death cries of the fallen. "You'll die if you don't!"

But Dimitri was looking and also not looking at him. "The dead," he said in a voice that was low, but somehow rang louder than the din. His pupils grew tight until they were pinpricks, and there was insanity in him that Felix could see he had been hiding this whole time with that guarded, frozen look. "The dead shall have their tribute, Glenn. Even now, you haunt me, but I promise you, I will bring a sea of blood for you."

Felix let go of Dimitri, stumbling backward, tripping over nothing. He fell backward into the mud, landing on his bottom. He stared up at Dimitri who had turned partially away from Felix, his stance looking remarkably like a boar trapped in a corner did. He bared his teeth in a soundless growl and lunged into an attack.

A man much larger, the man from Duscur, hoisted him onto his feet, his expression impassive, as though what he had just witnessed was nothing to him. "You must fight," he said in a calm, clear voice that made Felix jump. It was not a voice he would have associated with the man from Duscur. "His Highness would not want you dead on the battlefield."

Felix felt the rain become a downpour. The drops were fat and plentiful against his light armor, against his face. He wiped his hair from his face, using his arm. "Your prince is delusional."

And he lifted his sword high above his head and charged into the battlefield.


	4. secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> life at garreg mach means tea times, cute little women named annette, a striking young man with foxlike green eyes, and felix realizes there's more to sylvain than meets the eye.
> 
> some.... hot sylvix in this chapter, but strictly T-rated.

Life at Garreg Mach was hard to acclimate to at first because it was quite different from his life at the Fraldarius estate, the only place he could ever call home. For one, it was warmer here for a longer period of time despite being nestled within the mountains. Felix couldn't say he didn't dislike the more temperate climate. His uniform was so much lighter than the multitudes of layers and heavy coats he had to don when venturing out to travel back home and so movement was far more fluid which provided for optimal training.

And he'd be remiss if he couldn't mention the people in his class. He was surprised but also relieved to see both Ingrid and Sylvain joining him. Ingrid, because he had assumed her father would be busy trying to find her a match though, come to think of it Garreg Mach seemed to have an awful lot of rich people and nobles attending, so maybe he had other notions in mind for his daughter other than to become an experienced fighter.

Sylvain, he'd heard had been named the next Margrave Gautier once his Crest had fully manifested. This surprised Felix. He wondered how Sylvain took this piece of news but upon arriving at Garreg Mach, saw that Sylvain seemed to be his usual self - chatting up girls, and in general, being the most boisterous student in the Blue Lions.

Dimitri was the head of the house. The decision had been unanimous to make him the head, though Sylvain had made a run for the elections too as a joke. Everyone agreed that because Dimitri would someday rule Faerghus, the position should undoubtedly be his. This made it difficult to avoid Dimitri which Felix had planned on doing following his first battle but he endured it all the same.

The head professor of the Blue Lions was Professor Hanneman, a crotchety old man who seemed more interested in his research than actually teaching his students anything related to battlefield skills, though he seemed to have a good grasp on dark magic. This was good for students like Mercedes and Annette who were interested in honing their magical craft, but for everyone else in the group who were interested in axes, gauntlets, lances, or swords, it was a pained chore.

Dimitri could clearly see this and strove to schedule his own extra practices that everyone else could join in if they so wished. 

It wasn't until Felix one day attended a seminar that was hosted by Professor Byleth that he realized how woefully inadequate their own professor was. Professor Byleth was, and there was no other word for it, undoubtedly _cool_. The way they swung the sword as if it was an extension of themselves was what Felix admired the most. He began to watch the professor in secrecy as they taught the Black Eagles.

It was clear, even from their first mock battle that the Blue Lions and the Golden Deer houses were unmatched compared to the Black Eagles. It wasn't because they, as a class was weaker Felix surmised - rather, it _had_ to be Professor Byleth's tutelage. There was no way somebody like Linhardt, a prissy noble who took naps beyond what any average individual should be taking, could be so useful on the battlefield. There was also commoner songstress who had no experience on the battlefield, the orange-haired man who thought too much of himself as a noble, and the girl who barely ever showed her face to class, let alone any extracurricular assignments. Even the second son of Count Bergliez, a general who Felix had heard so much about even in Faerghus, seemed useless on the battlefield with how enthusiastic and hotheaded he was.

No, it had to be Professor Byleth's tactical genius. From what Felix had gathered, they had had a _lot_ of experience on the battlefield working as a mercenary. This was obviously invaluable experience to Felix who had only ever been in one battle.

He was surprised then, when the professor had one day, quite suddenly asked him for tea. Felix was surprised. He wasn't sure how he had ever stuck out to Professor Byleth, but he nodded in agreement, following the professor toward the tables in the garden. There, the professor served him a pine-tasting tea that reminded Felix of a warmer, more exotic climate. He instantly loved it, and even if the tea was a tad too hot for his tongue, he savored it. He was never one for tea, though Sylvain seemed to like it well enough.

Professor Byleth settled back in their chair, crossing one leg over the other. They pushed a basket of sweet biscuits toward Felix and sipped their tea. Silence befell them. 

Then, "I see you at my seminars every month I host them."

Felix set his teacup down, his face warming slightly. So they had noticed, had they? "So?" he asked.

"I am just curious is all. Do you enjoy them?"

Felix surveyed them. They had long, unevenly cut, black hair and dark blue eyes that seemed partially dead, but for a spark of something strange in them. It unnerved Felix to no end. At the same time, he wanted to please this person and yet he hated that he wanted to. "They're passable compared to the others," he said. "I do not wish to learn healing magic through song, nor Crests and black magic. It is a waste of time."

Professor Byleth said, "Do you not enjoy the other seminars conducted? Shamir-"

"Teaches bows and lances. What I'm after are gauntlets and swords," Felix finished.

Professor Byleth stroked their chin almost thoughtfully, their eyes looking past Felix. "I believe looking at Catherine's sword technique might also befit you. Her blows are strong but swift."

Felix _had _seen Catherine's seminars. They were held a little less frequently since she was so busy going on missions. Felix had to admit she too was a good swordmaster but the style just wasn't exactly how he wanted his own to be. "I prefer yours."

They sipped their tea delicately. "Do you wish to join my class?"

That surprised Felix, he almost coughed out his tea. Just like that, they'd offered, as if they thought nothing of it. "What makes you think I want to come?"

Professor Byleth arched a pointed eyebrow. "I believe you would benefit from my teaching if you joined my house rather than just attended the seminar. However, if I thought wrong, then there's no point in trying to convince you and I wont waste my time."

Felix swallowed. They stared at Felix. He had the unnerving feeling that they could see right through Felix, through the wall he had put up, through the fact that he could not tell where he began and where Glenn ended, the doubt that perhaps his Crest was responsible for his strength and not his own merit, and lastly, _lastly_, that he desperately wanted to switch due to a certain prince.

"Can I think about it?" he asked.

"Certainly," Professor Byleth said. They took a biscuit from the tray and took a bite, looking deeply into his eyes.

* * *

"So a certain bird's told me about having a bit of tea time with a certain beloved professor," the head of Golden Deer said, sauntering up to him. It had been a long day. Felix was trying to put in hours to become better at Dark Magic since that seemed to be what Professor Hanneman wanted to teach them the most about, but he found himself lacking. Annette was putting in extra hours after class to tutor him, but it was hard for him to get it. He was restless.

Felix had spoken less than ten sentences to Claude von Riegan since the beginning of the year they all began. He wasn't familiar with Alliance affairs, but it seemed that he was the heir to become the next head of the Alliance. "What's it to you?" he asked.

If he was honest with himself, Claude made him feel uneasy. It wasn't that Claude was so obviously strange and stuck out like a total foreigner as a consequence. Felix had seen him in the early dawn of the morning, meditating and had noted, on more than one occasion that when he used silverware at the dining hall, he held the instruments as if they were foreign, similar to how the Brigid princess did. There were also whispers that Claude did not pray to the goddess, that he prayed instead to elements instead which was a little scandalous considering he was within the Church's main territory. Then again, Felix didn't pray to the goddess much either.

No, what unnerved Felix was the fact that Claude always seemed to lost in thought. Even in their mock battle, Claude had come dangerously close to defeating the Black Eagles with no real battle experience, leaving the Blue Lions in the dust. His strategy seemed to consist of first sizing people up and try to predict their moves by watching them, before planning an attack accordingly. It was almost like the way Sylvain played chess; Sylvain seemed to exhibit no real threat until the very end until he played his very last piece. So too, did Claude estimate his opponents with a lazy, easygoing smile on the battlefield before planning his next move which was usually a devastating attack.

It was for this reason that Felix stayed clear of Claude. He wasn't much for head games. And for the most part, Claude had left Felix mostly alone though there were times Claude had watched him training and had even watched Felix in the sword tournament, his clever, fox-like green eyes noting each time Felix triggered his Crest to give him an advantage. Unlike those with minor Crests, Felix honed his with better precision and there was more of a burst of energy when it did trigger. Felix couldn't help but think Claude had deduced this himself after watching Felix easily win in the tournament.

"A certain bird should keep their mouth shut," Felix responded dryly, now, "If they know what's good for them."

Claude chuckled. "You don't really seem to like me much, your nobleness. Or birds."

"Not a lot of people seem to like you," Felix corrected. Which was the truth. Of all the house leaders, Claude had to be the most unpopular outside his own house attracting the most gossip, none of it very charitable or kind. His own house seemed to like him well enough, even treating him like their true equal, something Dimitri had always strived for within the Blue Lions but could never quite attain. 

But Claude only smiled. "Ah, so you noticed. And I suppose you're one of them."

"It's not that I don't dislike you because you look and act differently," Felix said, frankly. "I just think you hide a lot about yourself. It's irritating. I have no time for it."

"I don't see why what I hide makes me unlikeable when we all have our secrets," Claude said.

"I don't have any secrets," Felix responded bluntly, but he supposed Claude had a point. Even amongst the Blue Lions each of his housemates had their own tragic backstory. It almost seemed like his dead brother was incomparable when you looked at Dimitri or Mercedes, who had insinuated she'd had to leave her brother behind to unfortunate circumstances, and was not always a commoner.

Not that he had compared tragic backstories. It was just that everyone seemed to have something they did not wish to share.

"If you have no secrets then tell me what you and ol' Teach were talking about."

Felix thought about feigning ignorance but decided to play it straight. "I'm not sure it has anything to do with you."

"That's true," Claude admitted. "But I gotta say, Teach is fascinating. They always seem to have a reason for doing... anything."

Felix let out a mirthless laugh. "Do you feel betrayed they didn't pick your class to teach?"

He knew Dimitri was upset more than he'd let on. The Officer's Academy was supposed to be a high-ranking battle academy, and yet the Blue Lions had turned into a bit of a joke by having Professor Hanneman primarily teach them. He could imagine that Professor Manuela might even be worse off teaching the Golden Deer. For one, he heard there were days she showed up ten to fifteen minutes late, and many of the times she was hungover. A lot of her one on one student meetings dragged because she would either lament on her days of youth or how no man would ever want her. At least Professor Hanneman showed up promptly, but much of his lectures were devoted to his research or the study of magic.

The Black Eagles, on the other hand, seemed to be favored by Lady Rhea and the Knights of Seiros primarily because of Professor Byleth. Their missions seemed to carry more weight. It seemed unfair, the amount of preferential treatment they got just because of the professor themself. 

"Of course I am," Claude said now thoughtfully to himself. "But maybe it's better this way. I'd rather have an inattentive teacher over an attentive one and Teach doesn't seem to miss much."

Felix rolled his eyes. "Can I go then?"

Claude smirked. "Yes, I suppose. I already know what Teach wanted to talk to you about. What I was trying to figure out was why they asked you to join their house."

Felix frowned. "Keep your mouth shut," he hissed.

"Why, your nobleness? Afraid somebody might overhear? I suppose you do have your own secrets after all." 

* * *

The conversation with Claude unnerved Felix.

Even thinking about joining the Black Eagles felt almost like a betrayal, though Felix wasn't sure why it felt that way. It was just joining a different house. It wasn't as though he would never see Ingrid or Sylvain or the others ever again. Nonetheless, something was tugging at him, that to switch would drastically alter his life though that had to be utterly ridiculous. The only reason he wanted to join the Black Eagles in the first place was because of the mercenary turned professor. 

He wouldn't even fit in with that house, he told himself. The nobles there were of a different type and though he would never admit it aloud in a million years he found Ingrid and Sylvain's presence vastly comforting. They were _real_ people to him with real problems. Even those who were strangers to him, Mercedes, Ashe, and mostly Annette were all strangely comforting to him. In his own way, he secretly cared for and admired them for the people they were. The only people whose presence he found unsettling were Dimitri's and the man from Duscur - No, his name was Dedue, he told himself firmly - but they were easy enough to not talk to. Dedue especially, being a man of few words.

And yet he struggled day after day being in the Blue Lions. He attempted to try and learn dark magic with Professor Hanneman but grasping it was hard and required a lot more sitting down and studying concepts. Felix hated that. He was a man who practiced at the physical and hated theory.

He spent nights perfecting his swordsmanship. He was one of the speedier fighters in their house, though a powerful enough blow could finish him off. He was careful to get out of the way before that happened.

On one of their missions out to route a few bandits close to Garreg Mach, a bandit had swung his axe at Felix he leaped out of the way, but just barely. He shifted his stance, preparing to counter with his blade, but he heard the hooves of a horse and suddenly there was Sylvain, galloping through.

"Out of my way!" he roared, stabbing his lance into the bandit's chest. Felix could see a faint outline of the Gautier crest, before focusing on Sylvain.

He jumped off his horse in one fluid motion, a mix of anger and concern in his eyes. "What the hell was that?" he asked him, his eyebrows knit together.

Felix felt himself grow irritated at the accusation, at the attack on his prowess as a fighter. "I _had_ him-"

"That guy was about to chop you in half," Sylvain said. "And you just took your time preparing to attack him back. You're so damn slow. This isn't a classroom."

"What's it to you?" Felix spat, anger bubbling through his body. "Worry about your own battalion!"

Indeed, Sylvain had abandoned his own. They currently stood by a copse of trees, motionless as to what to do next, their stance indicating they were on the defensive.

Aside from Dedue and Felix, everyone in the mission had their own and were responsible for leading them in the fight. Felix's lack of battalion was by choice; battalions would only slow him down. Dedue's lack of battalion seemed to be because no battalion seemed to _want_ to be employed by somebody from Duscur and Professor Hanneman hardly cared to rectify that.

"I can't worry about them when I've got to worry about you!" Sylvain yelled back. "You're alone out there with no protection, you're fragile, and I can't concentrate when y-" he suddenly grabbed Felix and spun him around, crushing him to his chest. Felix felt Sylvain force his body against him, flinch and suddenly went limp into Felix's arms, his weight unbearably heavy. He saw an arrow cleanly sticking cleanly through his shoulder and out, its pointed end crimson with Sylvain's blood.

"Sylvain," he said, his voice faint to his ears, struggling to hold him up. He felt a keening in his ears drowning out the noise of battle.

It was hard to hold him up. Sylvain was taller, more muscular, and therefore weightier than Felix. The armor he was wearing also did not help. He tried to lower his body to the ground gently. Over Sylvain's slumped form, he saw a girl with orange hair - Annette, he thought, who was normally so clumsy - whispering an incantation at the archer that had just shot the arrow and was preparing to nock another to finish the job of ending Sylvain's life.

A moment later, two quick bursts of razor, sharp wind was blasted into the archer, the impact knocking him off his feet, and into a boulder where he was instantly dead. Annette's eyes found Felix's and she rushed forward, her battalion of mages circling about her in a protective circle as she reached them, not even checking to see if the path was clear or if any enemies were gunning after her. In the meantime, Felix lowered Sylvain to the ground, settling his head on his lap as he searched in vain for his own vulnerary. The bottle was empty and he cursed. He'd forgotten to refill it since the last battle.

"I'm sorry," Annette panted, arriving moments later, completely out of breath. "I'm not as good as Mercie is when it comes to healing, but I'll try my best." She closed her eyes, raised her hands to the heavens and performed a weak heal spell that had Sylvain opening his eyes.

He coughed a little, cinnamon eyes looking toward Felix. He smiled. "Are you okay?" he croaked, and coughed again.

And Felix, watching Sylvain like this almost at the brink of death, knew the answer to join in Professor Byleth's class did not lie in what he wanted but rather what he needed.

He realized, later on, he never wanted to feel as though his heart was slipping out of his throat.

* * *

He saw Sylvain a week and a half later.

All that time Sylvain had been in the hospital ward with Professor Manuela who insisted he stay at her side until his shoulder healed fully. It was quicker this way, she explained, rather than having the torn muscle heal naturally and if she could constantly surveil him, perhaps he wouldn't try to use his arm so much and damage it more.

He was in his room when there were two solid knocks and without waiting for an answer Sylvain burst in, his arm in a sling to discourage him from moving it too much.

"It's rude not to knock," Felix said in deadpan, not even flinching at the outburst. He was on the floor, his back resting against one of the legs of his bed, a magic textbook in front of him with an incantation that he simply could not crack. Annette had given him her notes. In exchange, she said, for his silence when he'd accidentally walked in on her singing an intriguing song that she claimed she made up herself. He nearly smiled to himself at the memory. When he thought of her, he could feel his heart literally soften. It was a rare feeling.

"Is it true?" Sylvain said breathlessly, standing over him, clutching at his sling with his good hand.

Felix tipped his head up to look at Sylvain better. Sylvain's eyebrows were raised upward in concern, his cinnamon brown eyes looking so damnably soft. "Who told you?"

"Who else? Dimitri," Sylvain said, crouching down on his haunches so they could face each other at equal height. He was still a little taller, but then he'd always been taller than Felix. "He got the notice from Professor Byleth. House leaders are apparently involved with the process of students switching houses."

_That_ was new. But the longing that Felix had thought he'd feel at the mention of the prince was curiously absent. Instead, annoyance swelled in his chest, and he averted his gaze to the floor, staring at the flooring as though he found the swirling pattern in the wood was infinitely more interesting than the dark brown that rimmed Sylvain's outer irises. "I didn't know he cared." 

Dimitri hadn't indicated that he'd even given any thought to Felix beyond the care he extended toward the others. Initially, this had hurt Felix more than he cared to let on, but he supposed it was for the best. He wanted nothing to do with the stupid boar prince. It was especially irritating to see him as that prince who pretended he was the furthest thing from a boar.

"Don't be stupid, of _course,_ he cares. You're Glenn's little brother and your dad is practically his dad."

The annoyance turned into a sudden fury. "And what about _me_? Does he even care about me? Does anyone even care that I'm anything other than Glenn's weak little brother and Rodrigue's idiotic son?"

He didn't look up. He knew what he would find. Pity. Sylvain was good at feeling sorry for others. And he realized somewhat belatedly that Sylvain had never treated him as an extension of a Fraldarius or the little brother of Glenn, or Rodrigue's son. Sylvain had always treated Felix as Felix. He had burst out at the wrong person.

Sylvain grabbed his shoulder with his good hand and crushed his face against his shoulder into a partial hug.

Felix flinched at the sudden movement, before breathing him in deeply at the crook of his neck. Sylvain smelled like many different things. The fresh smell of laundered cotton and leather that was masked by expensive cologne and just a little bit of fragrance that was feminine, indicating that perhaps he'd been on a date recently.

"Poor you," Sylvain said roughly, his voice low and very close to Felix's ear. He could feel Sylvain's hot breath pressing against the side of his face. "You must have it _so_ hard."

Felix fisted his hands into the collar of Sylvain's uniform in frustration but did not shove him away. "I hope your stupid arm hurts," he said instead, savagely, his lips brushing against the thin layer of cotton that separated him from feeling his bare skin. Unexpectedly, he felt desire curling into his core at the thought of this. How would his lips feel against Sylvain's bare shoulder? 

"It does hurt," Sylvain said, interrupting his thoughts, and Felix could hear a wry smile in his voice. His hand dropped from his shoulder to his waist. "Almost, but not as much as it hurts hearing you've abandoned me by switching houses."

Felix froze at those words. He'd heard Sylvain flirt before to many different women but never to any men. _Was_ he flirting? Or was this the sort of thing that friends who did not repress their feelings said to each other? "Don't be ridiculous."

"Yeah, that's me. The ridiculous one," Sylvain sighed, his hand still wrapped around Felix's waist. He was so incredibly warm, Felix wanted to curl into his big frame the way he had all those years ago when Sylvain had delivered news of Glenn's death to him.

Felix's heart was beating hard at this point. He thought he might be mad. He moved his hands up to Sylvain's collar and pulled it to the side so that part of his shoulder showed. He could see part of his collarbone. He shifted his face so that it rested on Sylvain's bare skin, his lips pressing against his shoulder, so very close to his neck.

Sylvain didn't move at all. This seemed like an encouraging sign.

"Remember the promise we made?" Felix said, his lips brushing against his bare skin. He felt Sylvain's pulse quicken, felt him swallow hard.

But when he spoke he sounded normal. "You mean the one where we couldn't die without the other?"

Felix nodded into his shoulder, his nose burrowing deeper into the crook of Sylvain's neck. "You almost fucking broke it," he said, his voice muffled against Sylvain's skin. He could feel Sylvain's hand tighten at his waist, pulling him closer.

"I could say the same about you," Sylvain whispered, and this time his lips brushed ever so slightly against the shell of Felix's ear as he spoke. "You could have died out there."

Felix couldn't help the noise he made at contact and let out an involuntary shiver. He suddenly wondered how Sylvain's mouth would feel, but a tiny voice in the back of his mind made him resist. He breathed heavily instead into Sylvain's neck. "Sylvain," he said and didn't know what he wanted to say, but he said it just because he could. If he asked what was to happen next, he feared the spell might be broken.

"Yeah?" Sylvain whispered, and now he was fully nuzzling his face into Felix's ear. It felt so good, and Felix felt a dark curl of desire deep in his abdomen, shooting downward. He felt very hot.

"I..." the words died in his throat because Sylvain kissed a spot underneath his ear and he showed no sign of stopping. His kisses were dry at first, but Felix could tell his lips were soft, plump wondrous against his skin. But as he kissed along his jawline, the kisses got wetter. At some point, he felt Sylvain's teeth scrape gently at his jawline and he let out a slight moan, which only seemed to make Sylvain's efforts even more aggressive. He nudged Felix's chin up with his nose so he could explore his neck with his lips and tongue. It felt so unbelievably good, Felix could feel his cock stiffening beneath his uniform pants.

But this was _Sylvain_, Felix thought to himself. He'd never thought of Sylvain in this way before. He was always older, always comforting Felix when he got left behind. And wasn't Sylvain into women? What was going on? Was this just a game to Sylvain? Because if it was, Felix wanted no part of it. He couldn't do it again, couldn't have yet another person abandon him, especially not Sylvain.

Anyone but Sylvain.

"Are you okay?" Sylvain asked breathlessly. He'd stopped kissing Felix's neck at the hallowed base, right above his collarbone and was now studying him. "Is this okay?" Felix could see the desire in Sylvain's darkening eyes. His eyes dropped to Sylvain's throat. By grasping his shirt, he'd undone several of his buttons and he could see at the beginning of Sylvain's chest, the faint marking of a scar that traveled downward. He wondered where the end of that scar was, how many more scars Sylvain had.

Felix swallowed his own desire with great difficulty. He was afraid, and he was succumbing to it, of the unending curiosity of his best friend, a person who was comfortable to him, who he thought he knew so much of yet inexplicably was a stranger in front of him right now. "I have to tell you something," he said turning away from Sylvain, blinking rapidly. He could feel his cock rapidly softening at the prospect of saying this. He was already missing the feeling of Sylvain's lips against his skin and wondered how they would feel against his lips. 

"Okay," was all Sylvain responded with.

"Remember a few years ago we were playing chess and I told you I'd made out with somebody?"

"Well, I kind of tricked you into saying it," Sylvain said, "But yeah, I remember"

"It was Dimitri," Felix said. He turned his face so he could see Sylvain, who he was surprised to find was smiling broadly at him as though Felix were joking.

"Come on, that can't be right," Sylvain said, his smile fading when he realized Felix looked serious. "You two barely acknowledge each other."

"Yeah," Felix said. "After that, it was like he didn't care anymore." He couldn't keep the sullenness out of his voice which irked him. 

"And that bothers you," Sylvain said softly, sitting backward fully, crossing his legs and laying his hand in his lap as he studied Felix intently.

"Yeah," Felix said again, hating the admission, but knowing that Sylvain would never judge him for it.

He could feel Sylvain's gaze on him but refused to look at him. 

"Do you love him?" Sylvain asked, after a moment.

Felix gripped the leg of his bed, his knuckles whitening. "No," he said and wondered if he was lying.

He wondered if Sylvain knew the answer, but all the other boy did was merely suck in a breath. "So you're joining Black Eagles then," he said after a long moment.

Felix's eyes crept up to Sylvain's face. His red hair was tousled, as it always was, in a careful manner as if he'd put in a great deal more thought into his appearance than what a mere glance initially suggested. He had thick lips that were now only slightly moist, an angular, masculine jaw, and a strong and straight nose. All these features could point to Sylvain's classical handsomeness that led so many women to go crazy for him, and yet it was the angle of his eyes more than anything else that Felix always sought. More than the color itself, the outer corner of his eyes were tilted slightly downward, which somehow made it so easy for people to open up to him.

"Yeah," Felix said. "I want to get stronger." He didn't want to say why. 

* * *

The next week, the professor pulled Felix aside away from the rest of the class after a lesson. They were going to route a thief that had stolen a relic.

Felix had only seen the Fraldarius relic once before. It was called the Aegis Shield and it glowed a dim orange. When Rodrigue held it, and he'd only done it once to explain the power of a Crest, Felix could see that the shield was no ordinary one. At Rodrigue's touch, the shield seemed to come to life, blazing a vibrant orange and pulsating as though it were alive. Whenever he thought of it, Felix even today, felt unnerved by the thought of someday wielding it, which he supposed would happen sooner or later since Glenn was no longer alive to inherit it. Aside from that he'd also seen the Sword of the Creator at the Professor's hip, and had heard of Thunderbrand, which one of the knights of Seiros wielded.

"Your father is looking for you," the Professor said.

Internally, he swore. The old man had not even written to him that he was coming, and Felix didn't like being caught off guard. "So?" Felix said. Since Felix had left to Garreg Mach, he had not written home and his father had not either. They were strangers, and Felix was perfectly fine with that.

"What should I tell him?"

Felix stared at them haughtily, crossing his arms over his chest. "You can tell him that I'm not here."

The professor only looked back at him, their dark blue eyes unwavering, almost a blank slate. It was annoying that Felix could not read the expression in them very well. He almost wished he had the same talent. Whenever he looked at himself in the mirror, all he could see was anger.

"Alright," the professor said simply. "There is one more thing," they added. "I am unsure if your previous classmates have informed you of the enemy we will be fighting this month."

Felix shook his head. Since joining the Black Eagles, it was becoming increasingly harder to spend time with Ingrid or Sylvain, the only two members of the Blue Lions he really sought to hang with. Their mealtimes did not always coincide, and Felix mostly had to set aside his own time to join them. Sometimes, he would catch Ingrid watching his practice sessions, studying his form carefully. He knew it was because while Ingrid preferred lances, she was ultimately required to train with the sword if she wanted to become a falcon flier which had always been her dream. Sylvain too would sometimes watch, but they never approached him afterward, preferring instead to catch up with him in passing, or during tea times or dinner.

"The leader of the bandits is Miklan. I have talked to some students and realize he is Sylvain's older brother."

Felix's face must have shown some sort of shock because the professor continued, "So you _do_ know who he is."

"We've met," Felix said, shortly, because he didn't want to give too much information away. When was the last time he'd seen Miklan? It had to be more than two years ago at some social event at Felix's home. Miklan had been looking for Sylvain with an unsettling look in his eye. Sylvain had been hiding form Miklan. Felix wasn't entirely sure what the story was between them but covered for Sylvain anyway. By now, it had come out that Sylvain was to inherit the Margrave title after his father's passing. Felix assumed it had something to do with that.

The professor pursed their lips.

"What is it?" Felix asked.

"I do not wish to have you fight somebody you care for."

"Who says I care for him?" Felix snorted.

The professor watched him as if they knew they were lying. "You share some sort of past with them. This mission is dangerous. We will probably end up having to kill him," they said with a sigh. "I do not want you witnessing, or even _doing_ such a thing if you have any reservation about it. It wouldn't do you any good, and more importantly, I wouldn't have your feelings jeopardizing anyone else because you failed to act."

Felix heard himself speak the words, "You don't have to worry about me. If it comes down to it, I'll finish the job no matter what it takes."

* * *

The professor ended up taking Annette along with them. She had begged most likely because of the knight that was to accompany them. Gilbert was his name. Felix had seen him teaching Dimitri when he was younger. At that time, Gilbert was happier and his hair was shorter, but now he mostly appeared sad. His face was deeply lined, and the flesh on his cheeks sagged as though he'd passed his hands too often over them. 

Felix could not imagine being that devoted to such a worthless father.

They followed the professor to a tower where the bandits had held themselves up. A thunderstorm was brewing which was rare for Faerghus but the professor and their students managed to get in before the rain began to fall.

"We stick together," the professor told their class quietly. "I need at least one lance, axe, sword, or gauntlet user near a magic-user or archer. Try to pair up." 

The Black Eagles were an extremely tight-knit group, Felix had discovered. With the exception of Dorothea who was unwaveringly chatty toward everyone, the group had already formed their own friendships and camaraderie within their own circle long before Felix joined. They were never rude to Felix, but they did treat him almost like an outsider, which suited Felix just fine. He had no inclination to really get to know anyone in their group, though he had to grudgingly admit some of them were talented. Particularly Bernadetta who, while reclusive as she was, had some really interesting battle maneuvers he'd never seen in his life.

The Black Eagles began to pair up. Edelgard and Hubert, Ferdinand and Dorothea, Caspar and Linhardt, and Petra and Bernadetta. It was no surprise that Felix found himself with Annette who lingered in the back close to her father. He didn't mind being paired with her. She was one of the only people who had yet to irritate him and he had to admire the amount of hard work she put into her studies.

"Stay close to me," he told her, looking for the professor's orders. The base of the tower they were in was old but sturdy. A good place to fortify oneself.

"You don't have to worry about me," Annette said. She was more than half a foot shorter than him and so small that if Felix hadn't seen her do damage in battle, he would have thought her so fragile. And perhaps she was. She was looking away from the professor, toward her father. 

"You're wasting your time," he muttered under his breath. He saw her ears redden, but she ignored him. Gilbert didn't even look her way. He was standing a few hundred feet behind them, all the way at the rear and behind him was...

"Fuck, it's an ambush," Felix whispered under his breath. 

Around him, his class was murmuring much of the same thing. Bernadetta was panicking, and Caspar was already starting toward them. The thieves behind them didn't seem to have seen them just yet in the dim lighting but it was only a matter of time.

"Quiet, all of you. Caspar, stay where you are," the professor ordered, their voice calm yet commandeering. Caspar stayed rooted to his spot, a scowl still evident on his face. "We're going to be fine. We're still going to advance forward. If they catch up to us, just fight them off. Do _not, _under any circumstances break away from the group. Always stay within range of the enemy. Remember what I taught you." They rushed forward, the heels of their boot clicking against the ground. 

They began forward slowly, Ferdinand and Dorothea up ahead with the professor, along with Hubert and Edelgard. The first enemies they encountered were easy enough for Felix. With the assistance of Annette, Felix found it almost a walk in the park to finish off the thieves that stood in their wake. He'd gotten hit a few times, but Annette was always there to heal his wounds. Her touch wasn't as gentle or effective as Mercedes' was, but it got the job done.

Lightning flashed and the rain outside the tower became heavier, water dripping through the cracks of the ceiling. He and Annette fought their way forward, Felix sometimes jumping in, using his own body to protect Annette. Twice, he was saved by the arrows of Bernadetta, her fearful yet watchful eye surveying the group. He supposed her paranoia had some uses after all.

And when they got to the end of the tower, almost four flights of stairs above, he saw Miklan standing amongst a group of bandits.

He looked almost like Sylvain but brawnier. Time had been unkind to him. His hair was disheveled and unevenly cut not by design, as Sylvain's was, but years of hardship. He wore a grim expression on his face, and in his hands was a lance with what appeared to be glowing bones puckering out. They glowed dimly. An ugly scar cut through his face. Felix wondered briefly who had put it there. Margrave Gautier? He certainly seemed stern enough.

Their eyes locked, and Miklan's face sneered. "I should have known Sylvain would send you here," he said, lowering his back slightly into an attack position. An archer beside him nocked an arrow, but Felix couldn't tell who he was aiming for. 

"I'm not here because of Sylvain," Felix called back. "You've stolen something, and it needs to be returned. Return it and nobody gets hurt."

To his side, Annette shivered uncontrollably. "_That's_ his brother?" she asked, unbelievingly, her voice low enough so only Felix could hear her. "What happened to him? They don't even look alike."

"I always thought you and I were alike, Felix," Miklan called out now. His voice was hoarse, as if he'd been screaming for the past week and had not soothed it with water or tea. "But I suppose the Tragedy of Duscur did for you what I could not do for myself."

A strange buzzing was filling Felix's head. White-hot anger surged through his blood. He could feel his pulse racing, he knew his Crest was dying to be unleashed. "Stop speaking in riddles," Felix called back haughtily, advancing forward, his sword gripped tightly in his hands. "When our weapons can do all the talking."

"Did Sylvain ever tell you how I got this scar?" Miklan asked, ignoring him and jerking his free thumb toward his own face. "It was the last time I tried to kill him."

_The last time he tried to kill him?_ Felix swallowed. Sylvain had said Miklan was not like Glenn, but he hadn't known their relationship was like this...

"You tried to kill your _own_ brother?" Annette shrieked, saying what Felix could not. "You're... you're a monster!"

Behind Miklan, the archer let loose his arrow and it sailed in the air, past Felix and Annette, hitting the professor who grunted. Felix whipped his head around. It had hit the professor in their unprotected abdomen and blood was pooling out rapidly. Dorothea and Linhardt rushed toward them, Linhardt's Crest activating as he began a healing spell. He could feel the panic rising up his throat.

He hesitated for one moment but remembered what the professor had said to him. How they hadn't wanted hesitation from Felix.

He whipped his face forward to Miklan, smothering the panic down, forcing himself to adjust to the situation, to forget the wound he'd seen. "And let me guess, Sylvain finally tried to kill you back?"

Miklan let out a harsh bark of laughter. "As if. My little brother is weak. He doesn't try. He doesn't have any drive to prove himself. I dropped him in wells, I beat him up, once I lockd him in his room for almost a week with no food and that brat never gave it back to me. No, this scar was my father's doing. He finally had enough. Couldn't risk having his _heir_ die, even though this whole time I was trying to show him that the brat doesn't deserve to be the heir. How can he, when he doesn't have the heart to retaliate to me, let alone any Srengese that dares invade our territory?"

Felix stared at him. "After all these years of living with him and being related to him by blood," Felix said, the anger pulsing through him somehow even more uncontrollable. He wondered how Sylvain had ever put up with it all. How he had taken Felix into his arms so many times whenever Glenn had taken his teasing too far. He remembered the beginning of the scar he'd seen when he and Sylvain had been alone in his bedroom, and he felt a sudden prickling at the corner of his eye. He swiped at his eye angrily. "You don't even understand your own brother and where his strengths lie. You're mad, and I'm tired of listening to you." He couldn't help the Fraldarius crest that suddenly erupted brightly in the air, sizzling as brightly as a firework, giving him that familiar source of strength that Felix had become accustomed to over the years. With a snarl, he was onto Miklan with a flash and struck the elder Gautier son, stabbing his iron sword between Miklan's ribs. Beside him, Annette chanted a spell that cut through him as well, the remnants of the razor-sharp wind rifling through Felix's bangs.

At the end of it, she was shaking, watching him. "Is he dead?" she panted, the magic draining some of her energy.

Miklan was still standing, but when he opened his mouth blood was staining his teeth, his lips. "He's going to die," Felix said through gritted teeth. Already, the Crest's power was leaving him, giving him a sensation of brief weakness.

But something strange was happening to Miklan, the lance was beginning to pulse in Miklan's hand, as if coming to light. For one horrible and absurd moment, Felix thought Miklan had a crest after all. It seemed this same thought had crossed the elder Gautier as well, because his eyes shimmered with madness and glee and his focus centered on Felix as he raised the lance to attack him. Felix dimly wondered if this was how he was to die.

But then there was confusion on Miklan's face, and soon horror. He paused. Beside Felix, he heard Annette gasp softly. "Look at his _arm_."

Felix looked.

It was disgusting. The relic, the lance, was melding into his body, and something _alive_ almost like a disease or a virus was bubbling from his arm toward the rest of his body. Miklan gave an anguished cry and the _thing_, the _mass_, grew, overtaking his features, growing, growing until it was some sort of beast.

And Felix had a thought, a thought he would never voice aloud but thought nonetheless. That perhaps the beast had been hiding within him all along.

And that Sylvain had his own secrets as well.


	5. apsides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all last chapter (?) unless....
> 
> as i write this, i have just published the first chapter. fe3h is a huge fandom and there are so many great works on here that this little old character study of felix is prob nothing new lmao. still, im excited to share my work with you. it's been fun writing about felix and trying to figure him out in a way i can understand him.
> 
> i think i might add another additional epilogue type chapter after this, not from the perspective of felix, but probably sylvain or dimitri i'm not sure. still thinking about it.

The bells of the Fraldarius estate tolled upon Felix's return, the only noise he could hear apart from the steady beating of his own heart and the gentle breeze that rippled through the dead grass. It wasn't winter quite yet which started earlier in Fraldarius territory than most of Fòdlan, but the air was chilly and Felix could feel it even within the confines of their carriage.

Next to the carriage, Sylvain rode by dressed in black clothing, on his black horse. His red hair was unusually and immaculately combed back, his expression serious as he rode his horse. As always, Felix loved watching Sylvain ride, loved seeing him so intently focused on something. Sylvain had never indicated it, but Felix knew he preferred riding on the back of a horse and preferred to do his fighting on it all the time if he could.

The mansion was as he remembered it. Large gray-bricked walls, long functional spires. The Fraldarius banners hung everywhere, bearing that all too familiar Crest.

And somehow, it no longer seemed like home. 

"Hey," Ingrid said, softly. "You okay?" 

He turned to her. Her nose was red, and her mossy green eyes were unusually bright. "Yeah," he heard himself say.

She took his hand in hers and squeezed it conveying her warmth and strength to him. "You don't have to be strong here. It's just us. I won't tell a soul."

He swallowed. He knew she wouldn't. "I know. I'm fine." He squeezed her hand back to prove it, before trying to let go.

"You can't be okay," Ingrid said, her voice high. "It makes me feel foolish because I am not. Your mother was always like one to me." He knew that was probably true. Ingrid's own mother had died before she was old enough to know what mothers were and she'd spent so many summers in the Fraldarius mansion that his mother had almost adopted her.

She held his hand in a tighter grip, refusing to let go of him. She used her free hand to swipe at the tears threatening to fall. "I'm sorry, I'm supposed to comfort you, but..." she let out a tiny sob and then pulled him into a hug, "I can't believe she's _gone_."

He heard the words but wondered if there was something wrong with him. If there was something wrong with how he registered the concept of death. He was aware that Ingrid had said a sentence that indicated that his mother was dead, but somehow it didn't feel real, just as Glenn's also had not felt real when he heard the news from Sylvain.

He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her hair, stroking her long, gold spun hair almost robotically, his heartbeats slowing down into something like a slow funeral march. He felt his vision go blurry, feeling her against him. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sylvain watching them through the window of the carriage, but he said nothing. He watched them as if he were merely watching the passing scenery.

He wondered what was happening at Garreg Mach. Lady Rhea had let him and a few others leave to attend to the funeral of his mother, at the written request of his father. Notably, he had not written Felix personally to inform him of her death and so Felix had come to know of it when the professor pulled him aside and informed him gently that he could leave for a week and a half.

Even now, within Fraldarius territory, Felix wondered how many lessons he was missing, and he wondered what the Black Eagles house was doing. Since the death of Miklan, he'd been better accepted into the house. Edelgard treated him with a little more respect, though she seemed more absent-minded these days. The only person who still viewed him with distrust was perhaps Hubert, but then, he _always_ seemed to view everyone around him with distrust.

The carriage drew to a stop and Felix let go of Ingrid. "I think I've just gotten used to it," he said, trying to cheer her up. "So it's not as hard for me to accept it. She was already kind of gone." It was true, wasn't it? His mother had been the most affected of them all over Glenn's death. To know that she had died because she had wasted away was somehow right.

The carriage door opened and Sylvain helped Ingrid out of the carriage. For once, she did not seem annoyed that Sylvain was touching her, or really even treating her like a lady. This seemed to trouble Sylvain, who had his hand at her lower back, directing her toward the mansion. Sheepishly, he dropped his hand and slowed his steps down so he could walk with Felix.

"Haven't been here in what seems like forever," Sylvain said. "So much has happened since we started at Garreg Mach."

That was for sure. It had been an eventful few months since Miklan's death. Last month, they had finally located Seteth's little sister who had been kidnapped with Monica, a former student at Garreg Mach in the Black Eagles house. It seemed like each month there was something else, something strange and it all had to do with Garreg Mach. The prevailing theory was that the Death Knight was behind it and that he was Jeritza, one of the sword instructors that Felix had admired from afar but never had a chance to spar with.

"How are things at home?" Felix asked Sylvain, to break his mind away from school and its happenings. 

Sylvain shrugged. They had not spoken of Miklan's death, though Felix had discovered that at some point Dimitri had led the Blue Lions out to ferret out the rest of the bandits that they'd missed in Conand tower. Ingrid told Felix that it was Sylvain's idea to kill all of them, which surprised Felix. He didn't know that Sylvain was capable of voicing any sort of idea, let alone this. All he knew was that Sylvain had never approached Felix and asked how Miklan had died, and Felix had never ventured his own involvement. He was almost sure Sylvain knew Miklan's death was caused by Felix, at least in part. 

He drew his fur cloak about him tightly and drew his hood up to warm his cheeks better. At the entrance to the mansion was his father. Rodrigue. Felix stared at him grimly.

The old man looked more harrowed than ever. His gray eyes were sunken, almost hallow, his expression far more haggard than when Felix had left and when Felix and he were within speaking distance, Felix bowed stiffly as though they were strangers. "Father," he said.

"Felix," Rodrigue said, his eyebrows tensed as though he were holding back emotion. He drew Felix into his arms, hugging him tightly. It was strange that even though he was taller than his son, he somehow seemed smaller, more infallible than he'd last saw him. Human. Felix did not reciprocate the hug. He felt the familiar spark of anger jump down his spine, the way he always did when he saw his father. "You're here. Thank goodness."

"And?" Felix asked. What good was his presence?

His father pulled back to look at Felix's face, appraising him with a careful yet sentimental eye. "You've grown," he said, his voice low. "And yet your eyes are still very much like hers. I miss her so."

"Then why did you always _leave_ her?" Felix all but spat out. He hadn't meant to snap, but everything about his father set him off at this moment. Every word he spoke, the way he smelled like home, the noble set of his wavy hair. The noble-esque of his very being rang hollow to Felix.

He watched his father flinch. His arms dropping from Felix, taking a step backward, registering the hate in Felix's eyes, his stiff stance, the downward line of his lips. 

"My boy," he whispered, but there it was. The guilt in the dark gray of his eyes.

Beside him, he felt Sylvain tug at his hand, but Felix didn't move. "Did she die like a true mother? Waiting and pining for you always, giving you Crest-bearing heirs, but barely ever getting to see you even and especially after Glenn? Was she just a womb for you? Nothing more?"

"_Felix_," Ingrid muttered insistently, seizing his other hand and dragging him along. "That's not right."

His father heaved a huge sigh, his shoulders slumping, looking down to the floor, shame clouding what was once a handsome face. An infallible face. "It's fine, Ingrid. It's probably what I deserve."

He wanted his father to slap him, wanted him to yell at him. Because he knew as well as anyone that as much as his father deserved this tongue-lasting, he did as well because he had abandoned her too.

* * *

The service was slow. Everyone wore black, but not many people seemed to care that Mother was gone. Ever since Glenn's death, she had not ventured out of the mansion, and the world had moved on without her. IT was almost as if she had died at the same time he had and now people were bewildered her funeral was taking place now, as opposed to all those years ago.

Several rows behind him, Felix knew Dimitri was there. He could feel the ice of his eyes slicing into the back of his neck as though he could read into Felix's thoughts with nothing but the intensity of his gaze. He had left Garreg Mach for the service later than Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix, and intended on leaving sooner than them. Felix's father had asked him to stay the night. Much to Felix's annoyance, Dimitri had agreed.

And when all the guests left, save Ingrid, Sylvain, Felix and Dimitri, they all trudged upstairs and, much to Felix's surprise, followed him to his room.

"There are about fifty guest bedrooms in this house," Felix said, walking the familiar corridor to his old bedroom.

"And?" Sylvain said. 

"We want to be with you," Ingrid said, and Felix swallowed a knot that had formed in his throat. "Please let us in."

He said nothing. He couldn't say no to Ingrid, not when she was asking like that, her green eyes brighter and wetter than usual. She hadn't cried at all during the funeral, had even smiled at the few nobles, her movements only a little more wooden than they usually were. With a start, he realized she was wearing the same funeral attire she'd worn during Glenn's funeral. The edges were slightly frayed, and it seemed like it was a tad too tight at the chest and arms, but otherwise, it seemed to still fit her.

He opened the door to his room. Everything was as it usually was. The furs that were draped over his large, four-poster bed, the animal skins on the floor, the tables that did not have many books since Felix didn't like reading. But the maids had kept it clean as though he were still there. There wasn't a speck of dust coating any surfaces. A lump unexpectedly formed in his throat at the thought of Mother directing them from her bed to clean his room, a room Felix hadn't thought he'd see any time soon.

He knelt before the fireplace. There was unburnt wood. With a slight gesture of his fingers, he was able to emit a spark that began a small fire. Since Felix joined the Black Eagles, the Professor had managed to teach him some spells. Felix didn't have much of a grasp on it but could cast thunder which proved useful enough.

He stoked the flames and soon got a fire going. He turned around. Sylvain was sprawled on his stomach on his bed, watching him. Ingrid was sitting there too, her back against the pillows, her legs crisscrossed, looking out the window where there was a light snowfall. Dimitri was sitting on one of the armchairs, his hands gripping the armrests tightly, but otherwise, he looked almost too relaxed, too casual.

Felix swallowed. "Well," he said, feeling inexplicably tired all of a sudden, "Goodnight."

"Not so fast," Sylvain said. "We haven't seen so much of you since you joined the Black Eagles. What's it like?"

Ingrid sat up straighter. "They've always seemed like a strange bunch," she said. "Except for Dorothea."

Felix shrugged. "No stranger than all of the Blue Lions," he said, feeling strangely protective over his new house. Though he couldn't deny that the Black Eagles were a strange house, he had since found they were a house where, once they accepted you, they would go all out to protect you. He couldn't deny that he found Linhardt's laziness annoying, almost as much as Ferdinand's sense of entitlement. And he found Caspar's brash and loud enthusiasm for justice even worse than Ashe's nerdy interest with knighthood. But Dorothea was smart, sharper than she initially let others believe, and Petra's capability with the sword rivaled Felix's. Even though Hubert didn't seem to trust him which he found bizarre (trust him with what?) and Edelgard always seemed absent, rather occupied with something else he found the Black Eagles a welcome change. His favorite Black Eagles member however came as a surprise. He couldn't deny his fondness for Bernadetta. She was skittish and a disaster, but she was far more capable of handling herself, he'd discovered.

Dimitri chuckled. It was the first time he'd uttered any sort of noise. "So you're really one of them," he said in a strange voice.

"Your Highness," Sylvain said, a note of caution in his voice as if they'd all discussed this before.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Felix said defiantly. "And what of it?"

"It is nothing," Dimitri said, his eyes meeting Felix's for the first time since their battle years ago suppressing the Western Church. Despite himself, Felix felt his pulse quicken at their eyes meeting.

The flames crackled. Dimitri looked away. Felix decided not to pursue the argument further.

"I miss this place," Ingrid said after a pause, sighing to herself. "And I miss us being together."

Felix wanted to point out that they never really were together. That even if they'd grown up seeing each other, he had personal relationships with all of them individually, but not together like this. Still, despite everything he did enjoy being with Ingrid and Sylvain like this.

"How did you get the flames going, Felix?" Sylvain wanted to know.

"The professor's been teaching me a little dark magic," Felix said. Professor Byleth had proven a far more effective professor than Hanneman or even Annette had which included magic and they hadn't wasted time trying to teach Felix all courses of dark magic, but rather sticking to one thing that they thought would suit Felix the best - in his case it was electricity. Felix planned on somehow combining it with the sword but he wasn't sure where to start and planned on talking with the professor about it when he returned. "But I haven't really gotten the hang of fire or wind," he said. He wasn't sure if he ever would. Wind required consistent strong, bursts of pressure, and fire required not just materialization of the flame, but it also required a delicate hand to ensure that the flame was going where the caster wanted it to go. Lightning suited Felix more. It was fast, powerful, and dangerous. The professor had watched the way Felix moved on the battlefield and decided electricity would be the way to learn magic.

Sylvain shrugged. "Still, the fact that you're learning is impressive on its own."

"Yes," Dimitri said, "It is good you are doing better." He watched the crackling flames and Felix couldn't entirely read the expression on the prince's face. It could have been the trick of the flame, or perhaps wishful thinking, but he did look a little sad. There was no hint of the same rage and madness Felix had seen all those years ago on the battlefield. Dimitri looked worn out, worse than he had in ages. Was he sleeping properly?

But no, these weren't questions that Felix wanted to ask, nor felt that he could, not when there was still so much unresolved anger within him. "I am," he said. "How are the Blue Lions?"

Sylvain shrugged, a small smile playing on his face. "Just about as well as you can possibly imagine. The Officer's Academy is kind of a joke. Not that I'm complaining, there's just more time to woo women."

"You should be taking your duty as the next Margrave Gautier a little more seriously," Dimitri said. He _did_ look like he hadn't slept. He was pale, and the shadows under his eyes looked more pronounced.

Sylvain smiled at Felix lazily as though they shared a private joke, and Felix's stomach flipped unexpectedly at that. "Relax, your Highness. I've got a plan for Sreng."

"Oh?" Ingrid piped up, and Felix could tell by the viciousness of her tone that she was about to insult him. "What are you going to do? Woo all the Sreng women into compliance? Like _that'__s_ ever worked for you."

Dimitri laughed, and even Sylvain grinned. "Something like that," he said, winking at her. "If I didn't know any better, 'Grid, I'd say you were a little jealous."

Ingrid pressed her lips tightly together. "Jealous? Oh no, not jealous, Sylvain. Just thinking about what I'm going to have to do to clean up a whole Srengese invasion once you let down a whole culture of women."

Sylvain's grin was even broader, and Felix could see what he was trying to do. He was distracting Ingrid from being sad. "That's a little harsh. There's bound to be at _least_ one of them who would have me."

"The Sreng aren't that dumb," Ingrid shot back. The sad, faraway look on her face was gone at the very least.

Sylvain reached for her. "Don't you worry, I'll find a Sreng man for you. Rich, strong, knightly. He won't have a Crest, but he'll be rich."

Ingrid narrowed her eyes at him. "No thank you." She looked very red in the face.

Sylvain smirked. "Ah, so you _absolutely_ need a Crest then, let's think about any potential suitors for you. There's always Lorenz from Gold Deer, or Hubert maybe?"

"Hubert doesn't have a Crest," Felix said automatically. It was strange how he kept tabs on such things. These things that he certainly didn't expect to know, but somehow did.

"Really?" Sylvain frowned. "That's interesting."

Ingrid unfolded her legs, looking downright annoyed. "Why don't I just marry you, Sylvain? We get along splendidly. You won't let me mind my own business and as an added bonus that my father would _love_, you obviously have a Crest. I'd love to make some Crest babies with you."

Sylvain looked taken aback. "I, uh." He coughed. "Ingrid, well, I think you're obviously a very beautiful woman. I mean, you're not as hot as Mercedes, Dorothea or Hilda but you've got that kind of natural beauty to you any guy would be wild for. I just well, uh, I just think you're more like... like..." he cast a helpless look at Dimitri, then Felix, trying to find words to get him out of this. "You're..."

"Oh, shut up," Ingrid said irritably. "No wonder women find you repugnant. You can't even be honest with somebody you've known your whole life."

Felix smiled. It wasn't often that Ingrid caught him unaware, or that Sylvain's easygoingness was wiped off. And then he noticed Dimitri was watching him and the smile slowly faded away.

"You should marry Felix," Sylvain said weakly, to throw her off of him.

"A fine idea," Dimitri said. "He is, after all, another Fraldarius."

Felix knew Dimitri was joking. They all knew he hadn't meant it in a mean way, that he'd always had a poor sense of humor and he said things that were meant to be taken seriously. But the shock and hurt that flashed across Ingrid's face still angered Felix into saying, "Just because the Fraldariuses are disposable to you doesn't mean other people feel that way, boar."

"Hey..." Sylvain said weakly.

And there it was. Just a tiny hint, but there was that certain inescapable madness that glittered in the frozen depth of Dimitri's eyes. Riddled with anger, but there was also something unexpected there as well, in the way his cheeks suddenly bloomed with color. That was guilt. "You know I didn't mean it that way."

"Your actions say otherwise," Felix hissed. 

"Felix," Dimitri began, and the guilt outweighed the madness by almost a life of nothing but death. "You do not deserve the things that I have inflicted upon your family-"

"And you most certainly do not have to apologize for it," Ingrid said, springing to her feet. "You are not to blame, Your Highness."

"I'll be the judge of that," Felix said. He held up a fist. "Let's count the lives that your family's claimed from mine." He held up one finger. "My father-"

"Rodrigue is still alive!"

"Yes, but he's more your father than mine, isn't it?" Felix snarled. "Do you deny it?"

Dimitri looked stricken.

"Felix," Ingrid said, her voice breaking, but for the first time since he'd known her, there was also anger directed at him. "That's enough."

"You can claim my mother too," he said, ignoring her, his vision unexpectedly blurring, holding up another finger. "She died the day Glenn did." He turned to Ingrid. "So you see why it hasn't affected me? She was already dead for _years_."

"Felix," Ingrid said, and her eyebrows had dipped but she was also crying too. She rushed over to him. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but you _know_-"

"How can you not hate that boar?" Felix said. "If it weren't for him, Glenn wouldn't be dead. The love of your life wouldn't be dead."

"You know that's not true," Ingrid said, clutching at his arms. "You know this was Glenn's duty, and he understood what it meant to be a knight in service to the Blaiddyds."

"It doesn't change the fact that he died and it was all because of them. Because of _him_."

"Stop saying that," Ingrid begged.

"You know it's true too," Felix said. "You know if it weren't for him _all_ of your problems would be solved. House Galatea wouldn't be so poor, you'd get to marry somebody you loved."

"It's not his fault," she said. "It's Duscur. They're the ones responsible for what happ-"

"It wasn't Duscur," Dimitri said, cutting her off. "None of you were there. I saw what happened. It wasn't Duscur."

"Then who was it?" Sylvain asked, speaking up for the first time.

Dimitri shook his head. "I have theories... theories that keep me up at night. That day has haunted me. Each day I try to approach it from a different angle, but I have no proof of who it really could be."

"Your Highness, you're in shock," Ingrid said. "How could it not be from Duscur? Your own uncle caught and punished them. There were men from Duscur at the scene, as well as their weapons."

"Some Duscurian men were there, it is true," Dimitri said, "But this was not a planned attack from the country itself. There's no way they could have planned an attack so barbaric that most of the bodies could not even be recovered. That not even Glenn's..."

"What are you talking about?" Felix said, rolling his eyes. "Glenn's body was buried here."

Dimitri shook his head. "You might think so, but the casket they brought back here was empty. His body was so messed up that when officials returned to the scene to recover any of the remaining bodies, we couldn't recover his. So you see, Felix, I am aware of the pain I've caused."

He looked truly sorry. He was sincere, Felix could tell. But it didn't matter anymore. He shrugged himself away from Ingrid's grasp. "I don't care that you know," Felix said. "I'll never, _ever_ be in your service. You've claimed too much from us, and I refuse to fall into the same fate the others did."

Dimitri smiled a little. The madness in his eyes had quelled a little. "Well, I can't deny I would be disappointed. But it is your life. Do as you wish."

"How magnanimous of you," Felix said softly. "Your Highness."

He turned on his heel.

"Fe-" he heard Ingrid say, but he was gone, stalking down the gloomy corridors, his feet leading him away from his bedroom. 

It was especially chilly within the stone walls and Felix couldn't help but think it was because his mother was no longer alive. Even though her presence was barely there toward the end, knowing that she was still in the mansion was enough to keep it alive.

He found himself outside the library. He never liked being in here. Neither had Glenn. Both had preferred the training grounds, but Father had insisted they get a thorough understanding of Faerghus history. Glenn always had more patience and had stuck out through the lessons more diligently than Felix, but he'd looked annoyed about it the whole time.

Since Glenn's death, Felix hadn't entered. After his death, Father had become even busier and hadn't bothered to check and see if Felix was getting a proper education beyond managing the estates, and Mother had been too wrapped up in grief to care. He exhaled and pushed the door open.

It was as it had been all those years ago. Rows and rows of bookcases with untouched, immaculately ordered books. Felix walked up to one of the tables - the one he and Glenn had sat upon all those years ago - and sat on it. On one of the corners of the table, he could make out a carving, though it wasn't in Glenn's nor his own handwriting.

_I.B.F._

What had that stood for?

The door squeaked open and Felix backed away from the table, the chair screeching loudly behind him as he attempted to stand. How had Ingrid, Sylvain or even Dimitri found him this quickly? The library was the last place anyone who knew him would care to check. "Whoever it is, go away," he said. "I'm not in the mood to discuss anything."

"Is that you, Felix?" a voice called out, and Felix internally groaned. It was worse than Dimitri.

It was his father.

"I was just heading out. The library is all yours," Felix said, turning around. Sure enough, his father was standing at the center of the bookcases. He was wearing so many furs, it was hard to see what he wore underneath, but Felix knew his father would never roam the halls in his sleepwear. It was not proper.

His eyes were ringed with red. "Wait, my son," he said. "Spare your father a moment?"

"What do you want?" Felix asked, but he didn't move to leave. At the very least, he thought, he owed this much to his father.

His father pulled out the very same chair Felix had been sitting on just moments ago and sat upon it. "It has been so long since I've seen you here."

Felix said nothing but took a seat opposite Rodrigue. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat, facing slightly away from.

"Glenn was always the better studier, but you had all the skill and strength of a warrior," his father said. "It used to bother him so much, but he knew it to be true. That you would surpass his skill someday."

"It's too bad it never happened," Felix said, the statement far more harsh than he'd intended it to sound. 

"Yes," his father said. "Our family has endured too many losses. I often wonder if it is my doing."

"What do you mean?" Felix said. He wanted to say that there was no wondering, somehow it really was all of his father's doing.

"What you said about my abandoning your mother was true. Do not mistake me, I loved and cared for her. But each time I left for the capital I did desert her, not just physically, but mentally too. I did it under the guise of duty, but I think your mother and I both knew that was wrong."

"So you did enjoy being there more than being with us," Felix scoffed. "I knew it."

His father looked worn out. "Yes," he said. "For as much as I denied it, I did. Part of me really... enjoyed being in the company of King Lambert. He was..." he paused, uncertain on how to go on. "He was like what I hope you are to Dimitri. A friend."

"I am not you," Felix said. "And I'm not Glenn either."

His father smiled. "No, you are not. I sometimes find it difficult to pin who you were more like. Your mother or I. But ultimately, I was the selfish one and she was not. She knew what marrying me meant; that I could not be the husband she hoped for in the ways that mattered when my heart belonged to another."

Felix stared at him now. "So you did it out of love then? How foolish," he said vehemently. "You fell in love with the King, but did he even love you back? Did he even care what you sacrificed just to be around him?"

His father's smile turned sad. "I think he knew. He was always trying to get me to spend more time with my own estate, but he did need me. He was unable to return the amount of devotion I had for him. Still, I believe he loved me in his own way."

"Pathetic," Felix muttered. "Unrequited love got you nowhere." He stood. "You look at me and wonder who I was more like. I can tell you with absolute certainty that Glenn was more like Mother. He understood what duty was to the point where he died, where she understood duty until it broke her in other ways. You and I know nothing of duty. We're both selfish. We chase our own ambitions and desires. It's why I cannot stand to look at you. I refuse to take part in your ideals. And it's also why the Fraldarius family ends with me. I will not claim it. Thank you for teaching me that."

"Felix," his father said, looking stricken. "Think of what you're saying. I know I've hurt you in unforgivable ways but-"

"You're a hypocrite," Felix said. "And I'm tired of looking at you." He scoffed. "Love. What a stupid thing to sacrifice so much for."

"Love is the only thing anyone should sacrifice anything for," he said, "I hope someday you understand that."

"Did Glenn, I wonder? After all he put duty over everything else, didn't he?"

He watched his father's face crumple and in the savage delight he took in knowing he did that, he also felt a small spark of guilt.

He brushed it aside and wandered down the halls. The halls that his mother had walked through for so many years. What had she been thinking each time his father had left for Fhirdiad or Dimitri's estate? Had she buried such wonderings by maintaining the estate, ensuring the servants did their job, managing the estate ledgers in his father's absence? He remembered the loneliness in her golden eyes and hated his father all over again for putting that expression in her eyes. 

What a sad life. She had deserved so much more.

He found himself outside her boudoir. When he was younger, he loved going here, and as he got older his visits were less frequent. He pushed the door open and he could smell the lingering scent of her favorite incense she burned. It smelled like lavender and citrus. 

He lit a candle to illuminate the room and looked at the private sitting room. There was a chaise by the long window where Mother would curl up with a book. His mother was unlike the rest of them and read a lot in her spare time. Even now, if he looked at the table next to the chaise, he saw three titles. _A Collection of Translated Almyran Love Poems _by Hafayz_, The Scent of the Silver Gooseberry Tree_ by Eljigin of Murtada, a noted Srengese author that had become quite famous in Faerghus, and _The Duke's Wicked Ways_ by Alice Pickett, which Felix was sure was one of those silly romance novels. He opened _The Scent of the Silver Gooseberry Tree_ and read a line at random that she'd underlined. 

_A long-suffering sigh escaped Tatar's lips, the same lips that Yasmin longed to claim, but he was always, always out of her reach._

Felix threw the novel on the chaise. Was this what it meant to be a Fraldarius? To long for something, but to never quite attain it?

He glanced at the wall opposite the chaise. There was a full-length portrait of their family she had commissioned when they were younger of their family. His father was standing in his ceremonial uniform holding the Aegis Shield in one hand, and a silver lance in the other. He was young, his smile less worn out and more bright. Mother sat on a chair in a yellow dress. Her hair was pulled back with pearls set in her hair, and a tiara on her head. She was not smiling, but her golden eyes sparkled. In her lap was Felix who could not be more than five years old and looked close to crying. On Mother's other side was Glenn, his expression sullen at having to stand still for so long. His black hair was shoulder-length. He was attempting to grow it out at that time Felix remembered. Just like their father.

"What a good-looking family," Sylvain said, and it was because it was Sylvain that Felix didn't jump, but he did turn to Sylvain. "You gave us a bit of a fright when you left. Ingrid insisted on tearing the whole mansion apart trying to look for you."

"I was in the library," Felix said. 

Sylvain raised an eyebrow and a little smile crept on his face. "Is that so? I wouldn't have suspected that would be the place you'd want to go. I guess you're smarter than you let on."

Felix glowered at him but didn't say anything.

Sylvain picked up _The Scent of the Silver Gooseberry Tree_. "This is such a good book," he exclaimed. "You were reading it?"

"My mother was. You know I don't read," he said.

Sylvain ignored the sullenness in Felix's voice, flipping through the pages. "I've met Elgijin. Always got the impression that he was a really sad guy, and it shows in this book. The novel's a love story at surface level you know, but a lot of the unrequited feelings Yasmin feels for Tatar is actually an allegory for lands that the Srengese lost. It's why it's so popular in Sreng _and_ Faerghus. Faerghus loves a good sad but romantic story, and the Sreng see it as a patriotic novel."

"_You_?" Felix said incredulously. "You met _him_?"

"Why is that surprising?"

"Isn't he Srengese?"

Sylvain shrugged. "They're not bad people. I truly believe there could be a way to coexist with the Srengese and Faerghus. I don't think war or borders is the answer. If _The Scent of the Silver Gooseberry Tree_ has taught me anything, it's that we have the same feelings and the same values. If I could just get the Srengese and those living on the Gautier lands to see that..."

Felix crossed his arms. "You think your father had the wrong way of doing things?"

Sylvain ran his hand through his hair almost self-consciously. "Well, yes, and forgive me for saying so but King Lambert did as well when we annexed their lands. I understand why he did what he did when there was a war, but we took their land in the end. It's not right. They have every right to try and reclaim it. When I become the new Margrave..." he shook his head. "I could solve the problem of what it means to be a Gautier too."

Felix stared at him.

"What?" Sylvain said defensively.

"You _have_ thought about this."

"Well, yes," Sylvain replied. "I _do_ think in my spare time."

"Surprising," Felix said dryly to cover his surprise. He always knew Sylvain was smarter than he let on, but he had no idea Sylvain thought so seriously about the future.

"Don't you ever think about the future?" Sylvain asked. He set the novel down on the table next to the chaise and walked over to stand next to Felix, looking at the portrait.

"Not as much as you," Felix admitted, turning to look at the portrait. "All I know is that I don't think I want this anymore."

"A family?"

"You know what I mean. I wish I could be free from what it means to be a Fraldarius."

"What would you do if you weren't one?"

Felix shrugged. "Maybe I'd be a mercenary for hire. Test my strength against strong and skilled warriors."

"It sounds lonely."

Felix turned to face Sylvain. "You could come with me," he said softly. "We could travel together and see all of Fódlan."

Sylvain turned to face him too. He smiled a sad little smile. "That would be nice," he said. "And I'm happy that you offered."

"But you won't come?" Felix said because that's what it sounded like.

"I won't go," Sylvain affirmed. "There's so much I have yet to do, Felix. I can't put what I want ahead of what House Gautier needs. What Faerghus needs."

Felix swallowed back the bitter disappointment. He didn't know Sylvain would reject his proposal to leave. It crushed him more than he thought it would. "So you want me," he said instead, turning away from Sylvain. "Just not enough."

He felt Sylvain grab his shoulder and force him to turn to face him. Sylvain slid his hand up to his neck, then to cradle his cheek. "I love you," he said. "More than I think I've ever loved anyone. I've said the words so often that it rings hollow, so I've never said it out loud, but I've always meant it for you, Felix."

Felix closed his eyes. He leaned into his touch slightly. This was the moment he had to say it back, but he couldn't. "Then come with me," he said.

Sylvain leaned his forehead against Felix's. "I can't," he said. He leaned down to kiss Felix, but Felix moved his head away, so Sylvain's lips brushed against his cheek instead.

"Come with me," Felix repeated, staring at the floor between where their feet were.

"I want to," Sylvain said desperately.

"Come with me!" Felix yelled. He shoved at him. "You know you could! You could, but you choose not to." He shoved him again.

"Felix..." Sylvain grabbed his wrists, and Felix tried to wring them free. "Why not stay with me?"

"Let go of me," he snarled at Sylvain, whose eyes were wet and Sylvain did not abide by his wishes. "You know I can't. You know that I couldn't, why would you ask? Let go of me."

Instead, what he did was Sylvain reeled him in and pressed him into his chest suffocating him so that when Felix finally stopped struggling, and lay his ear against Sylvain's chest all he could hear was the steady thrum of his heart, and his own chaotic heartbeat beating wildly in response to what he considered to be a betrayal of fate.

* * *

The Black Eagles, to their credit, did not treat Felix any differently when he arrived back. Well, mostly. Sometimes he would catch Dorothea gifting him with a sympathetic smile. And Linhardt had once stopped him in the hall and had given him several concoctions that he promised would help him sleep better. Petra only said one thing about his loss - that in Brigid culture no one truly died - that their energy was stored back into the earth and would be reincarnated as something else. That was an oddly comforting thought.

He kept his distance from the Blue Lions for the most part. Ingrid approached him several times, and he let her, but things were different between them now since his outburst and he was sorry for it. He missed Ingrid.

And when they thought he wasn't looking (though he was, he always was) Sylvain and Dimitri would watch from afar. Neither of them approached Felix.

The mood in Garreg Mach shifted when the Professor's father, Jeralt Eisner, died. There was a collective sense of shock, for Jeralt had been considered one of the best. And the Professor's whole demeanor had... shifted somehow. Felix used to consider them a blank slate with strange and bare signs of life in forms of dry humor, and bouts of extreme focus to detail and study.

But after Jeralt's death, the Professor had changed. They wore grief, pain, and anger around their shoulders tightly like a wall. Like they were only human and nothing more. It was unsettling to Felix, but he also understood the feeling quite well.

He bore through his lessons painstakingly, watched his professor turn into the goddess reincarnate before his very eyes, watched as they cut back into their own dimension with pale green hair and eyes. Watched the impossible become somehow possible. Saw the disbelief and awe pierce Edelgard's impenetrable demeanor. Even Hubert, who didn't seem fazed by much seemed stricken by this new development. The displeasure on his face showed as much, but Felix couldn't understand it. Wouldn't more power be a good thing? 

He found Annette in the greenhouse. By now, the Blue Lions were little more than mere strangers to him, but Annette always smiled for him, always made time for him.

She was singing softly to herself when he approached, and he waited until she was finished with her song (something off-key about swamp beasties) until she turned for him and said, "Ha! I bet you thought you caught me off guard."

"I didn't?" Felix asked, even though his full intention was not to catch her off guard. He thought she privately enjoyed having the upper hand, so he gave it to her.

"Nope." She grinned. "I knew you were there all along. So what did you think about my song?"

"It was... full of adventure." As usual, he had no idea what the ending of her lyrics meant, what purpose there was behind them.

"You didn't like it," she said. "It's my voice, isn't it? I mean, of course, it is. You've joined the Black Eagles, you have a _professional_ singer in your midst now." She must mean Dorothea.

"You're the best singer in Garreg Mach," Felix said, and he was surprised at how sincere he sounded. Dorothea's voice was beautiful as was Professor Manuela's, but there was something else to Annette's voice he couldn't put his finger on. It lacked the finesse that the other two had, and had none of the magnanimity either, but there was something quite tangible to the lyrics. He knew that perhaps in another life, Annette could have made an excellent bard.

"You can be sweet when you want to be, even if it's not true," Annette acknowledged, her face pink. "But I appreciate the compliment all the same. What do you want?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're only really nice when you want something," Annette said. "Teaching you about magic, helping you get ahead in classes, whatever it is..."

"That's not true," Felix said. "I like to hear you sing."

"If you sincerely did, then tell me what you want me to sing." 

Felix thought about it. "Have you heard the Faerghus lullaby? The Frog that Leapt Through the Stars?"

Annette laughed, "Of course I do. Father used to sing that song to me right before he left for the kingdom. Where the frog finds his home in Morfis?"

Felix nodded. 

She took a deep breath and sang the lyrics. She sang it differently from the way his mother did. The rhythm was different for starters. Her voice was clearer, but a little off-key, and at the part where the frog gets to the moon, she dragged out the ending longer, but Felix swallowed still. 

"Thank you," he said. And he meant it.

"You miss her, don't you?" Annette said, turning back to the plants.

"Everyone has to die someday," Felix responded, crossing his arms, turning away.

"But you still do miss her," she insisted.

He nodded, even though her back was turned toward him. He wondered if the loneliness was because of his desertion. After all, he had deserted her first, hadn't he?

"I hope the song eased your pain," Annette said. "I used to sing that song whenever I missed my father. He used to sing it to me all the time because he said it was His Highness's favorite song too. Apparently one of his friends sung it for him."

A lump formed in Felix's throat. He turned around only to find those damned frozen eyes staring at them from the entrance, watching. Only they were exhausted, cornered, like a trapped animal. "That sounds made up," he said. 

"What about it does?"

"That stupid boar has no friends. Only corpses."

* * *

The invasion of Garreg Mach was swift. The invasion was fierce. It was madness, but Felix made sure he did not seek out Sylvain on the battlefield, not when he saw the bloodlust in Lady Rhea's eyes, not even when the Professor fell to their supposed death, unable to truly accomplish their goal. Whatever that was. Felix himself didn't pay attention to the politics.

He was aware of his betrayal, even more so as their campaign turned successful. He knew this decision meant he couldn't go back, and he told himself it was what he wanted.

That this was what he wanted all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so idk if i'm like.......... 100% satisfied with how i ended this lmao. it's a bit too open-ended for my taste.
> 
> i think i will do an epilogue, unless y'all feel like it's complete as it is? lmk what you think
> 
> .....idk thinkin..... i might do TWO epilogues bc i think I know how I want to end it. but it's going to take some time so maybe i might just combine them to save on time rather than separate chapters bc 2 epilogues might be overkill for a measly 5 chaptered fic. still... TWO EPILOGUES. the novelty. the excitement!! why 2 epilogues? i dunno, im literally just thinkin out loud here brainstorming in this little end note of mine right before i sign off
> 
> also i don't have much time to write these days. (it took me alllll the time between chapters 1-4 to write chapter 5 bc i was writing in like 10 minute increments during study breaks bc i had literally no time and this chapter was long af i know im sorry!! im a slow bitch, gotta get better at it, someday gonna also go back to correct inconsistencies. someday here means prob never :^) )
> 
> thank u for reading my fic, and if u didn't why would u read this lame author's note instead, go read the actual thing (please)


	6. epilogue 1: aphelion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after the invasion, we get a bit of a summary of what's been happening during the past 5 years from dimitri's perspective. this is part 1 of the epilogue. there's a part 2 as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im baaaaaack.
> 
> it's been a hot minute because i had a really huge 2 day exam to prepare for. thoughts and prayers bc i don't know if i'll pass y'all. if u guys dont believe in a god then either pick one and pray or just send good vibes lmao.
> 
> this probably has like a million inconsistencies and it's mostly because im more worried about my exam lol. i shall seek to edit afterward.

It had been almost six years since Dimitri and Felix had seen each other, so he was surprised to find him in Fhirdiad. Dimitri was out in the marketplace, hood drawn so as not to draw attention to himself. It was something he liked to do when he had the time. Walk amongst the commoners, get a sense to who they were, what their lives were like. Their lives were so very unlike his own, and he longed to be part of their fabric, but he often found it difficult to blend in. With his long and sturdy stature, he could cut through swaths of people easily.

These were dangerous times. In Faerghus, everyone looked at each other with suspicion, but the figure ahead of him was undoubtedly Felix. Dimitri could spot him anywhere. Though Felix undoubtedly trained very hard, his body was compact and tightly drawn. His hair was down rather than drawn in its usual messy bun. He could easily be mistaken for a woman, but if he turned, his face would be unmistakably masculine in the way his eyes seemed so guarded and closed off, and the way his mouth refused to relent into a smile.

Dimitri's pulse quickened at the thought.

Since the invasion of Garreg Mach, he hadn't seen Felix. There was some part of him that had hoped Felix wouldn't fight for Edelgard, but he honestly couldn't find it within himself to be surprised that Felix went missing once Lady Rhea was attacked in the holy mausoleum by Edelgard. He was not surprised at all to see Felix on the battlefield with the invading army. Felix had never been one for politics. He didn't care about Crests or the Church and it seemed like he didn't care about people dying either. And yet, despite all the apathy, Dimitri remembered their last conversation so clearly, the disgust and revulsion in Felix's whole demeanor as he hurled accusation after accusation toward Felix.

And so he really couldn't believe his own eyes that Felix was in the market. The ink of his hair stood out against the grays and whites and beiges of Fhirdiad, and when the wind rippled through his hair, he could see it was glossy. He had been bathing regularly. It meant he was no fugitive. He was well-cared for.

He rushed forward, still not believing his own eyes. "Felix," he said out loud, his voice hushed. A buzzing filled his ears. And suddenly around him, there was a swarm of bees, but he could still see Felix turning, and Dimitri couldn't bear to look at his eyes. He watched Felix's lips curve into a smile.

Felix didn't smile often and when he did, it was barely there. He wasn't like Glenn who used to smile plenty of times, each one of them always so contrarian. They were hard smiles, sarcastic smiles, and arrogant ones too. He could never just genuinely smile, though Dimitri tried so hard to make it happen. 

Felix's smiles were rare. They were barely there but when they _were_, anyone could see the sweetness that smile betrayed. The Felix that Felix was before Glenn died.

"Dimitri," Felix said, still smiling faintly. The buzzing got louder, the swarming bees became angrier in their flight. Except it wasn't Felix's voice. Because Felix never said Dimitri's name like that. Felix never said his name at all. "You're finally here."

The voice was all wrong. It was quieter, rougher. Dimitri's gaze traveled upward, and he saw Felix's eyes and they were all wrong. They were a slate gray. And for the briefest of moments, (was it a trick of the light?) they turned a lovely shade of lavender he hadn't seen in years.

A bee landed on one of the whites of the gray-lavender eyes. The left one. The white turned red, red, crimson, black. There was blood everywhere.

"Glenn," Dimitri said, heart in mouth, but could no longer hear his voice over the bees.

* * *

When Dimitri woke up, there was already a cool, wet, rag neatly folded on his forehead. Mercedes was helping him sit up, pushing the pillows back, and helping a glass of chilled water to his lips. She knew the nature of his nightmares. They often left his throat dry, sweat beading his face.

"They're getting worse," he heard her say to him. "And more frequent."

She didn't have to tell him. Dimitri knew.

The war had been at a stalemate for years, and Dimitri had thought that perhaps if he and Edelgard just had one conversation, that the war would come to an end and they could reach some sort of compromise regarding the Church. If Edelgard wouldn't come to a compromise, Dimitri's next option was contacting the Leicester Alliance, something he knew was riskier. He'd known from his Garreg Mach school days that Claude wasn't especially fond of the Church. He couldn't be certain that Claude would join forces with Dimitri about defeating Edelgard, not with the rumors showing that the Leicester Alliance wasn't exactly as unified as Claude maintained. Despite all that, Claude seemed to be resisting the Adrestrian army on his own as well.

His plans had come to a halt however when it seemed as though, all of a sudden the Adrestrian Empire seemed to wage the war smarter, better. Their campaigns hit harder, in vulnerable areas, and Dimitri knew, even though the Holy Kingdom had plenty of victories, that the Adrestrian Empire was winning all the battles that mattered. It was almost as though they had something on their side, some sort of master strategist combined with a powerful warrior, charting out what their next step was.

As though it was divine intervention itself. But whenever Dimitri thought this, he had to laugh. It wasn't as though he was strictly a disbeliever. He believed in Sothis, but believing in Sothis also meant accepting the fact that the goddess had seemed to abandon the Kingdom. And now that the Church was so inextricably linked with the Kingdom, Dimitri couldn't back out even when he wanted to. Not when the Church _was_ in some ways, the Kingdom, not when Lady Rhea seemed to grow increasingly aggressive as the years progressed.

The nightmares were always bad, but they were getting progressively worse. They were usually involving the Tragedy of Duscur, and they usually involved Glenn's quickened breathing right before they were attacked, Glenn pulling Dimitri to himself right before he was slaughtered, Dimitri hearing Glenn's heartbeat, so quick and forceful, slow until it beat no more. Wearing Glenn's blood for days as a mask, hearing nothing but Glenn's last sharp intake of breath before he went limp for a long while. Walking around aimlessly until Gilbert found him.

Marrying Mercedes had helped a lot. He hadn't known her very well at Garreg Mach, but when Dimitri promised to protect Lady Rhea he found himself working with Mercedes a lot more often. She was a sincere believer of the goddess, and he had to admit, she was as kind as she was smart as she was beautiful as she was selfless. She was so much more than a healer. There was a maturity to her that Dimitri needed by his side and she would make for an excellent Queen in the way she carried herself.

And so he'd married her just a year after the Garreg Mach invasion after many shared confidences, countless sessions in which they shared tea (she knew instantly that his favorite was Chamomile and even though she knew by now that he could not taste, she still baked him things that all smelled so good, his mouth watered), and countless sweet, dizzying kisses.

Sleeping with Mercedes every night was a boon. For one, she liked him holding her. In that respect, she wasn't like Glenn who had always huffed whenever Dimitri asked to share a bed with him and often voiced his displeasure at being cuddled.

When he had a nightmare, she held him close, stroked his hair, murmured it was just a dream. Sometimes she would tell him ghost stories that were silly and eased his troubled soul. Other times they would talk about their old school days, how Annette once burned half the kitchen, how the old tomcat by the pond only ever seemed to tolerate Dedue's presence. They would talk about many things until he fell asleep. Mercedes always, _always_ understood him. She never judged him for anything, not even when Dimitri told her of his past relationships, of Edelgard, of Glenn, then of Felix, and for that Dimitri was grateful.

Marrying Mercedes proved to be controversial at first too, for Faerghus looked at their ruler with a dubious eye. Mercedes wasn't just a commoner after all - she used to be part of the nobility of the enemy. But the people of Faerghus knew their ruler to be controversial in surrounding himself with people. After all, his vassal was from Duscur, and his personal guard was Ingrid Brandl Galatea who came from a house so poor, there were whisperings as to why she hadn't married into a rich family, not even His Highness himself.

Dimitri knew what controversy was. It seemed that he was constantly making decisions that his strategists and people constantly found appalling and yet he kept making them anyway.

"I know they're getting worse," he murmured now back to her, in response. "How is Alex?" he asked her after drinking the whole glass.

Alexei Dimitraevich Blaiddyd was only a little more than a year old but was already walking. His birth had not been announced with the requisite twenty-one rounds of arrow shots, because Dimitri had hoped that it could be done in more peaceful times. He didn't want anyone to know he had an heir, for fear that the times would only get crazier. Only Lady Rhea knew of his birth, as did the castle. Other than that, it was a tightly-guarded secret.

"He's well," Mercedes said, putting the glass away. He watched her silhouette in the darkness. Mercedes was all soft curves. Since giving birth, even more so. Her hips had gotten rounder, her breasts heavier, her arms and legs more curved. He loved watching her move. "Dedue's got him. You know he's been a better parent than either of us these days."

It was true. Dedue _adored_ Alex. He was always coming up with different baby recipes, and was the first to spot Alex taking his first steps. That was the first time Dimitri had ever seen unrestrained joy and excitement in Dedue's face, and he discovered he loved that expression, that perhaps having Alex before the war ended was worth it if only to see this expression on Dedue's face. He also had to admit that Alex had brought Dimitri up in a way that nobody ever could. The love toward a child was something Dimitri never thought he could experience, being so awkward around children himself and yet Alex had proved him wrong. 

"What do you think it means?" Mercedes asked him softly, turning to face him. "Your nightmares?"

Dimitri closed his eyes and his thoughts of Alex vanished. Tipped his face upward so he didn't have to look at her. "Perhaps I am just a coward who does not have the strength to resist the darkness that comes for me."

He felt Mercedes curl up against him, her warm body melting into his. She rested her hand against his bare chest and began to chart out the scars he'd accumulated with her index finger. There weren't many, but he knew she loved to do it when she had these talks with him. "You know you can tell me anything." She said this when she knew he was lying, but didn't want to push him too hard.

It was the thought of that, the thought of not pushing him, that always got to him, that always led him to be truly honest with her.

He rested his chin on top of her head and kissed her hair. She always smelled like Albinean berries and baked bread. "Nothing ever gets past you, does it?"

She pressed her body against his in response but said nothing, waiting for him to speak.

"I fear we will not win this war, Mercie."

He waited for her reassurances, but they did not come.

He continued, "We have fought long and hard, but Faerghus cannot hold out much longer. I've heard rumors that the Leicester Alliance has fallen and Claude has been defeated. I know not whether his life was spared, but in any event, it does not matter, I can no longer forge an alliance with him. I cannot bear the thought of losing everyone. You, Alex, Dedue, Sylvain, Ingrid... the thought of you all falling to your deaths because I led you there-"

"You know we joined you because we wanted to, right?" Mercedes cut in. She moved her face in and kissed his chest once, a reassurance. "We knew there was a possibility we'd lose. We were never on the winning side to begin with. You cannot be responsible for our actions."

"I know..." Dimitri said. "And yet..."

"And yet nothing," Mercedes said, sitting up straight so she could face him. "Nothing is certain until we're dead. I cannot tell you with a good conscience we will win because the odds are stacked against us. But nothing is for sure, alright? We just need to fight our hardest and our smartest and get through this. The rest will come later."

He looked at her. In the darkness, he could see her colorless eyes insistently looking at him, asking him to believe her. They were a strange gray-blue, almost translucent, so different from his own eyes which he loathed. Hers were soft, full of promise and hope and light, not like his own blank, frozen ones.

He couldn't help himself. "You're right," he said to reassure her. He lied.

He pulled her close to him and he wrapped himself around her, knowing she wasn't convinced by it, that Mercedes could always see through his facade of being the perfect, chivalrous ruler. It was why she turned around, why she kissed him, why she whispered in his ear, told him he could use her any way he wanted this night.

They usually made love when they both needed it - it was something he knew Mercedes preferred and so he made sure that was something they did, that sex was a connection between two people who loved one another - but this time they fucked. Frenzied, desperate, knowing that their doom was to arise in the coming months but trying to distract themselves from the inevitable end. 

And for the next round, for there were many more to come, he knew she would take him as well in the same rough manner, riding him like an animal desperate to survive, her eyes uncharacteristically focused and concentrated, and harsh, pushing the thought of what was to come for their futures as best as she could. 

But even as they eventually spent themselves, collapsing against each other, him smoothing her hair back, feeling her unshed tears against his chest, the sweat that seeped into their sheets, that formed a sheen on their exhausted bodies, the thought came back to Dimitri, unbidden, as he closed his eyes into a dreamless slumber.

This, Dimitri knew, was how he would leave his legacy. A failed one. The end of the Blaiddyd line was growing increasingly nearer, and this was how he chose to go, fighting until the very end.

* * *

The war council room was littered with maps and colored pins. Black, for the Adrestrian Empire, and blue pins for the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, which also included the Knights of Seiros. There once had been yellow pins for the Leicester Alliance, specifically Claude's troops since some of the Alliance had joined the Adrestrian Empire, but once the rumors had been confirmed, that Claude had indeed lost, his whereabouts unknown (Dimitri could only assume the worst, that he was dead) the yellow pins had been replaced with more black pins.

He hated to admit it, but Edelgard was a capable commander of her forces. She was no longer the same girl he had known when they were young.

Sylvain scratched his head, perusing the map. Five years had turned him into a more serious man, which was something Dimitri had always yearned to see, but now that he'd seen him grow into this man under these circumstances, his heart broke. He much preferred a more careless Sylvain whose smiles came more easily, and who often enjoyed the luxuries of what it was to be a noble. "I hate to say it, Your Highness," Sylvain said, "But I think our final stand will have to take place outside of Fhirdiad. If it means protecting Lady Rhea, this would be our best shot. They don't know our lands as we do, and the rains are bound to be heavy around this time of year when they arrive. We just need to fight smart."

Dimitri sighed. "They do know those lands." Edelgard and he had played in these woods so many times that summer she came. He wasn't sure she would remember, because it seemed like she hadn't remembered him at all, or if she did she gave no indication.

Sylvain raised his head to look at Dimitri. "How can they? The only people who have access to those woods are nobility. The woods were hunting grounds..."

Mercedes bit her lip. She knew of Dimitri and Edelgard's history. "Is this the only chioce?" she asked.

"It's not the only choice," Sylvain admitted. "But even if they'd know about these woods it's still our best shot, especially if it rains. Those commanding the troops will know it better. That'd be me, you, and Dedue."

"And me," Mercedes said. "I will be there as well."

"Mercie, no," Dimitri began.

"Don't 'no' me," Mercedes said. "I'm not leaving you there alone."

Dimitri and Sylvain shared a look, with Dimitri imploring Sylvain to back him.

Sylvain sighed. "Mercie, you need to think of Alexei."

"This _is_ how I'm thinking of him," she said. "By giving a better chance for his father to survive to ensure he becomes a great ruler."

"And if we lose?" Dimitri said. "Even if the Adrestrian Empire takes you as prisoner-"

"I won't allow it-" Mercedes said.

"They would kill Alexei as he is the heir to the Holy Kingdom. They can't have anyone posing a threat to Edelgard's right to rule. I need to ensure that his safety is paramount."

Mercedes raised her eyebrows. "Well, I highly doubt they would kill Alexei. You _know_ Edelgard is pursuing a government purely based on meritocracy. But I understand your concerns, which is why I have already made arrangements."

Dimitri stilled. "What do you mean?" This was the first time they hadn't been on the same page. He rose to his feet and looked down at her, eyes narrowed.

Mercedes flushed. "I... I sent him away."

"To _where_?" 

"I don't know," Mercedes admitted. "I have entrusted him in the care of someone I trust to take him away from this madness. I told them not to tell me where they would be going in the event that I would be captured and tortured for information. So you see," she said. "I came here prepared."

"You absolute fool," Dimitri said, softly, the anger overtaking him so swiftly it surprised even him. It was the first time he'd ever been so angry at Mercedes in their years of marriage. They'd bickered, that was for sure, and they'd bickered long and hard over politics. But this was the first time he felt utter rage at their own family, that his anger was personal. "Why wouldn't you consult me?"

"Because you wouldn't have agreed," Mercedes responded.

"He's my son," Dimitri said, raising his voice. He fisted his hands on the war council table and willed himself to not strike the table.

"Your Highness," Sylvain said, his tone careful. "Perhaps you ought to discuss this at a different time-"

"Not now Sylvain!" Dimitri yelled, making Sylvain flinch. Mercedes, to her credit, did not. She clearly expected this outburst of anger. She had seen him lose his temper with Faerghus officials, with Seteth and Lady Rhea even a few times, but never toward her. The fact that she hadn't even been surprised did nothing to lessen his anger.

"He's _our_ son, Dimitri. Not just yours."

"Good, so you finally remember that," he seethed at her. "Now that you've established that, perhaps you could explain why _we_ could not discuss it? Who is this so-called trusted friend of yours?"

"It's best if you don't know," Mercedes said. "But they will find us when the war is over and return him. I promise you that."

"WHO IS IT?" Dimitri roared. The fury was unleashing, and it was uncontrollable. In his mind's eye, he could slate gray eyes a hard smile taunting him. The ghosts of the past were stirring and he tried so hard to quell them.

Even now, he could hear his father laughing in his ear, his step-mother sighing as she looked away from him right before she stepped onto the next carriage. The last time he'd seen her before her death.

Mercedes, to her credit, did not look fearful at his outbreak, nor did she shed any tears. She _did_ look sorry, the guilt eminent in her expression. Yet she folded her arms. "I won't tell you. Just trust me on this. You know I would do nothing to hurt you or the Kingdom intentionally. Everything I have done has been for your betterment."

He didn't yell after that, he knew, a small part of his mind that hadn't been corrupted by anger, that she would not betray him, that he trusted her. But he still couldn't believe _Mercedes_ of all people would do such a thing. "I cannot even _stand_ to look at you right now," he growled. He raised his fist and slammed it down on the council table, and there was a sound of splintering, as the table cracked slightly. "Leave my sight, woman," he said.

And because she was Mercedes, she complied with a curtsy. "As you wish, Your Highness," she responded in a neutral tone, and at that very moment, he _hated_ her with a fury. When she was upset, she always let him know by calling him Your Highness, the title which he preferred nobody call him. She usually never called him that since they got married.

When she was gone, he let out a roar of frustration.

"Look, Your Highness, I know you have every right to be upset," Sylvain said, "But your temper outbursts are scary enough as it is." 

Dimitri forgot that Sylvain was in the room. "Oh? Then what would you do if you found out _your_ wife betrayed you in a horrible way?"

"I don't know."

"That's exactly right," Dimitri shot back but unfisted his hands. "You're not married, neither do you have a son that is the only hope to the kingdom's future."

"Ouch," Sylvain said, but he had a slight smile on his face. "You don't have to rub it in that you married one of the only women in the Kingdom worthy of wife-ing."

"If you want a woman who would give your child up just like that, then be my guest..." he was so mad he was seeing white, and then red, and then finally, most depressingly, nothing. "I didn't even get to say goodbye. She took that from me."

Sylvain sighed. "What was your last memory with little Alexei?"

Dimitri thought about it. He'd seen Alexei two days ago. He and Dedue had been playing with him. Dedue had pushed him up on his legs, and Alexei had dashed across the room toward Dimitri and grabbed him around one leg. Dimitri had raised his leg up and down and up and down and Alexei had laughed in delight, and screamed, holding on to dear life before Dimitri had plucked him into his arms and planted a kiss on his forehead, Alexei cooing in delight.

And when Dimitri had turned around he noticed Mercedes with a small smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes. It was sad. He had thought she was thinking about how the happy times wouldn't last for long because of the war, but now he wondered if it was because she knew she was separating them.

"It was a happy memory, wasn't it?" Sylvain said. "Regard that as a goodbye, Your Highness. Sometimes partings aren't as happy as we wish they could be." He sounded wistful.

"It doesn't matter," Dimitri said. "What's done is done. She is... I don't know if I can forgive her."

"With all due respect Your Highness, this is war and your wife has fought with you on the battlelines multiple times. I understand you're upset and you have every right to be so. I couldn't even imagine what you must feel but... this kingdom can't function without you or her united at the front lines."

Dimitri sighed loudly. He knew Sylvain was right. Sylvain was always right, which was odd. He'd always given the worst advice at Garreg Mach regarding girls, but now he seemed so much wiser about other matters. "Why did you not get married? It seems it would come easy to you," he grumbled.

Sylvain shrugged. "Not a lot of women out there, honestly."

Which was another way of saying that Sylvain didn't want to marry. Still, Dimitri pushed. "There's Ingrid."

Sylvain made a face. "Ingrid's like my sister."

"House Gautier is rich. Her family needs yours in more ways than one. And your House needs an heir."

"Even if that were true, Your Highness," Sylvain said, "We don't love each other like that and I think she's tired of me besides. I think we're both old enough to know that if we don't love each other like that then it won't work. Besides..." he trailed off, looking away from the maps, away from Dimitri, and there was something about the way the sunlight hit his eyes.

"Besides?" Dimitri prompted, momentarily forgetting about Mercedes and his child.

"It's nothing," Sylvain said, favoring Dimitri with one of his characteristic lazy smiles that hid what he was truly thinking.

"Tell me," Dimitri said. 

Sylvain said nothing. 

"You love another," Dimitri said softly. "Is it not so?"

Sylvain looked away, but Dimitri was close enough that he could see the flush that had crept up Sylvain's neck, drowning out his freckles. He was right. But who on earth could it be? "It isn't... not Mercedes surely?" he said.

Sylvain snapped his head back to focus on Dimitri, looking annoyed. "Your Highness, what sort of ill thoughts-"

"You _did_ say she was one of the few marriageable women here."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I _love_ her like that," Sylvain said. He hid his face with his hands. "I can't believe I'm discussing this with you," he groaned.

"It's the only thing that's keeping me from thinking about murdering my wife," Dimitri said, and it was true. Partly.

Sylvain peeked at him through his fingers. "You know, to everyone else that comes off as a joke, but when you say it..."

"I wouldn't _really_ kill her," Dimitri scoffed.

"You've always had a terrible sense of humor."

He did and it was capable of destroying relationships. "You must admit she did something terrible."

Sylvain sobered. "Yeah, she did."

They were quiet for a few moments, Sylvain idly tracing his fingers over a scrap of parchment that went over the logistics of fortifying Arianrhod. Though the Adrestrian Empire was advancing to Fhirdiad, Sylvain had seemed adamant about ensuring Arianrhod was also well protected, which exasperated Dimitri because it meant they'd have to split their forces. As a result, he'd had to send Rodrigue, Gwendal, and Ingrid there which bothered him. All three were some of his best fighters and commanders and he wanted a more unified front. "But sometimes there are things we have to put above selfish love, Your Highness."

Dimitri wanted to counter this, but the expression on Sylvain's face, the faraway expression, held him back from saying anything.

Eventually, he said, "You're saying I must forgive her."

"You don't have to forgive her. But understand where she came from. That's all anyone can try to do when a loved one betrays them. Besides, I hate to say it, but you're not all that perfect either."

Dimitri wanted to bite back that he would never send Alexei without consulting Mercedes about it first, but he didn't. To some extent, he knew what Sylvain was trying to say. After all, he was sure there were things he'd done without consulting Mercedes that she disapproved of. Renouncing her title as a Bartels and declaring anyone with the name an enemy was something he had put out there in public opinion and he knew it upset Mercedes, though she never told him. He had no idea why because he knew her stepfather was a horrible person. He supposed that it was because she had a brother under that name but this was war. And if Mercedes wanted the people to accept her, if she wanted to marry him, she had to sever any loyalty tying her to the Empire.

Still, the fact that Alexei was gone at a critical moment of his life really irked Dimitri. "Sylvain," he said. "Promise me one thing."

"Your Highness?"

"If it should come to it if we lose-"

"That won't happen."

"_If_ we lose," Dimitri repeated over him, "I want you to run away from this conflict. Track down whoever it was that Mercedes entrusted Alex to. Find him and raise him away from all of this. Give him a happy life."

"Why not ask Dedue?"

Dimitri knew Dedue would never desert Dimitri's side, not even for Alexei's safety. This was primarily due to the fact that he knew Dedue staked his life for Dimitri, not just because Dimitri saved him all those years ago, but because Dedue believed that Dimitri was his best bet to restoring Duscur back to its former glory. He would see this war to the end. There was also the fact that Dedue had been acting strange these days. He was hiding something, but Dimitri didn't know what it was and was almost afraid to ask. "I need Dedue."

"You could ask Ingrid. I have work to do with the Gautier estates-"

"Ingrid isn't here," Dimitri cut him off. "Otherwise I would have asked her first. You are. As to your plans with House Gautier, I give you my word that whatever you planned for them, I will ensure it happens should we win the war. You could come back to see it through to yourself. At any rate, if we lose... I am sure whatever your plans are wouldn't come to fruition from the start."

Sylvain contemplated this. "What if it's something you disapprove of?"

Dimitri hesitated. "What did you have in mind?"

"Opening the borders to Sreng for trade purposes and to forge a treaty of peace," Sylvain said. 

Dimitri raised an eyebrow. It was highly unusual for Sylvain to be asking such a thing. Had he been taking his duties as Margrave seriously? It was hard to believe, especially since he spent most of his free time philandering with common women. Still, even if Dimitri had his own reservations about a proposal, it was a small price to pay to ensure Alexei's survival. "If Alexei survives, you have my word. After the war is over, and I've relinquished Duscur back to its people, our relationship with Sreng will be my next priority."

"Then it is done."

* * *

He found Mercedes in the old chapel that was connected to the kingdom a few days later. He was still undeniably angry at her, but he also missed her and had to admit, he had grown to depend on her being present in his life to steady him.

She was kneeling, arms clasped together in front of a statue that was supposed to be a rendering of the goddess.

He watched her kneeling figure for a moment and tried to remember all the times he'd loved her. He had no doubt in his mind that she made for the perfect queen. She was virtuous and kind and beautiful and wise. He truly loved her in a way he hadn't even loved Glenn. They had built something together in these five years. She was real in so many ways Glenn hadn't been because he was gone before he had a chance to truly become a man.

He approached her.

"How curious," she said, as he stood beside her kneeling form. "That you would visit the church on your own when you hate me so."

He knelt beside her on his knees and clasped his hands in front of him, as though in prayer. "I do, but it won't be forever," he said. "Just right now."

She turned to look at him, her luminous eyes regarding him with curiosity. "But you understand?"

"Of course I do. What you did was still wrong, however."

"I know."

"I can't think of why you would do such a thing. It is... unlike you." He was careful to choose his words so as not to sound accusatory or angry, though he knew Mercedes didn't scare easily, nor was she quick to anger.

She sighed and sank down so that she was no longer kneeling upright. "There is much I have chosen not to tell you, Dimitri. I always wanted you to think I was perfect because it was what the role of being Queen demanded."

He sank to her level as well and unclasped his hands so he could fold his around hers. He understood what she said because it was something he was constantly grappling with himself. He always wanted to appear perfect and impenetrable to the public and to his officials. The perfect picture of chivalry even though he was broken in so many different ways. "And what of being my wife?" He didn't know why he felt betrayed by her inability to show her own weaknesses to her since he had bared all of his to her.

"You know very well that they must be one and the same. That I must think about what comes next for us and our country. Sometimes the decisions I make are to benefit you, and if that means I must hide certain things that would not benefit you..."

"Hide what?" Dimitri asked softly. For once in her life, Mercedes looked troubled. She wore an uncharacteristic frown, and her eyebrows were furrowed together. "Why do you look so sad? What troubles you? It is not fair of you to carry these burdens alone."

"I preferred your yelling," Mercedes said, smiling sadly. She cupped his face tenderly. "If I told you, I know you would understand because that is who you are. But if I were to tell you why I did what I did it would be..." she stopped and stood, bringing Dimitri up to her level as well. "Well, no matter now."

_It would be what__?_ Dimitri thought to himself.

* * *

The rains came heavy and when they granted the lands a reprieve, they left behind an icy, gloomy, fog. All Dimitri could do was wait.

The news of Cornelia's, Rodrigue's, Gwendol's, and Ingrid's death had blackened his mood and the demons that he usually kept at bay were dangerously close to surfacing. It was surprisingly difficult for him to feel sad over their slain bodies when all he could feel was nothing. Not Gwendol, whose military prowess was renowned, not even Ingrid who he had seen so many sides of and had, despite his own selfish feelings, considered a dear friend; valiant, noble, hungry, and always sad. He'd been jealous of her when they were children. Jealous that she could steal Glenn's attention away with just a casual nod of the head.

Glenn had never said he'd loved her, but it was his duty to marry her someday, and Dimitri knew that Glenn, despite his vicious insults, and genuinely apathetic attitude, _always_ did his duty, no matter how he felt on the matter, no matter how much he hemmed and hawed over accomplishing it. Dimitri imagined Glenn hadn't cared for Ingrid, that maybe he'd done it out of duty, but perhaps they were both for him - he loved her because it was his duty after all. Or it was his duty and so he loved her.

Either way, the news of her death shocked him, for, over the years, he'd come to appreciate Ingrid for what she was; that of a loyal knight.

And then grief befell him as it always did these days, like an afterthought, and just when he thought he was so used to it, mourning washed over him overwhelming and heavy.

Mercedes had dropped to her knees, her face ashen. She sobbed openly in their bedroom, and he had held her, gathered her in his arms. In public, their advisors noticed the puffiness under her eyes but they didn't dare say a word. They couldn't afford to when the stakes were so stacked against them. Dimitri knew that Ingrid and Mercedes had gotten along closer than ever. Mercedes always looked after her, and always insisted on their tea time when Ingrid and she got together and Ingrid, for her part had appreciated her time with the Queen. She had always said her times with Mercedes made her understand what it was to be a woman, especially when she spent so much time among men.

It was Rodrigue that Dimitri felt for the most. His adoptive father was his father in the years that mattered. He wondered who had killed Rodrigue, wondered if it was perhaps Felix because he knew Felix hated his father with an unbridled passion. He tried to imagine Felix doing that; his eyes lighting up in fury, slicing through Rodrigue's armor, piercing past the chainmail, to his very heart, and each time he did, he was met with conflicting feelings.

Even imagining it, Dimitri knew Felix's grace would come easy. Dimitri always loved to watch Felix practice and even more so, on the battlefield. It was like Felix was a tight coil for most of his life restraining much of how he truly felt, but on the battlefield, he let loose and it was stunning to watch his form, how fluid he changed his stances, and how, with practiced ease, he could neatly dodge a foe as though he were water and lightning combined. He was truly an accomplished swordmaster, and Dimitri had no doubt that if Glenn were still alive Felix would best him easily. 

"Dimitri," Dedue said, breaking into his thoughts, and Dimitri felt his cheeks go red. His gaze swept the room war council room and realized that it was of course empty. Dedue never called him by his name in public, but when he did Dimitri felt his insides grow warm at the thought of his truest friend treating him like an equal. Dedue sometimes understood him better than Mercedes even and if it weren't for Dedue's self-imposed distance, he wondered if there could have been more between them. He knew it would have been scandalous to the people if he took Dedue on as a lover, even more so than his marriage to Mercedes, yet the thought still came to him from time to time of the what-ifs.

"Yes, Dedue?" He focused in on the pins of the map. Since the attack on Arianrhod, the Adrestrian forces were growing larger. It was a suicide mission at this point to resist, but what choice did they have?

"An Adrestrian scout was recently spotted lurking by the woods. We have an estimation that they'll be here within the week."

Dimitri's expression didn't change, his heart still beat the same even though the news came quicker than anticipated. "I suppose we'll have to ready the troops then?"

"You don't sound surprised."

"Do not mistake my reaction as though I were anticipating it. I've known it was the end for a long time, Dedue."

"Perhaps it is not the end, Dimitri," Dedue said steadily.

Dimitri looked up, but Dedue looked as sure and calm as ever. It was true, that the past five years had worn him out. The lines in his face were harsher, and his face had accumulated a litany of small scars. At Dedue's insistence, he was usually on the front lines of any battle they fought and even though Dimitri's strength could rival Dedue's, sometimes even surpass his, the man from Duscur often acted as a shield against any and all enemies, his gaze never wavering, never showing any sign of shock. In some ways, Dimitri privately felt as though Dedue could have done so much more of a better job, for Dedue had lost so much and yet he remained a strong presence, almost as though he was uninhibited by any demons. The goal of defeating the Adrestrian Empire in order to restore lands back to Duscur had somehow never lifted and he certainly never seemed to confuse his singular goal with revenge the way Dimitri had so many times in the past.

Still, of this, Dimitri was sure. This would be their final battle and after this, he could not help but think Faerghus would cease to exist. This would be the end.

* * *

Dimitri tried to keep his feelings in check on the day of the invasion. From where he stood, he had a clear vision of Mercedes who stood at the end of the woods, and he also had a good view of Sylvain, but by the time Edelgard's troops came around, the battlefield was a mess.

With the combined efforts of Edelgard's might, Hubert's logical and strategic mind, and Byleth's eerily uncanny ability to be where they were needed most, Dimitri knew he didn't stand a chance. He could only hope that the church, in the aftermath, would put an end to this madness, that Lady Rhea had some trick up her sleeve to ensure his country's survival for choosing to defend and stand by her. Yet he somehow doubted it. Lady Rhea had seemed more and more unhinged these past few weeks and he couldn't help but wonder whether he had picked the wrong side in all this and that Edelgard had a valid reason to end her life. But it wasn't like he had a real choice in the matter. Faerghus and the Church were practically one. They ruled the land alongside each other. Siding with Edelgard was unthinkable.

The rains were heavy, and there was so much mud, Dimitri couldn't help but think of his first maiden battle. How long ago had that been when he had nearly blacked out, and by the end of it stood amongst the massacred troops of the Western Church? When Felix had approached him, what had Dimitri told him? Something about Glenn. It hadn't been the first time he mistook Felix for Glenn, and he knew it was certainly not the last. That he wished Glenn were still alive to the point where he confused the ghost for what was the reality that was Felix who sometimes did not know where his true personality lay or where his adoption of Glenn's personality began.

He watched as the battle took an unexpected turn when Dedue activated a Crest, and watched with abject horror his soldiers and generals turn into monsters before his very eyes. He hadn't authorized this, but he couldn't deny that the result of the madness evened the battle out more.

He watched as the Dark Knight's forces branched away from the main forces, heading for Mercedes and he moved toward her, to warn her what was to happen, but his path was suddenly blocked, his body slamming into somebody else's.

For a moment, he was confused and blinked stupidly through the heavy rain. There was no battalion; he had a clear view between him and Mercedes so why...?

He looked immediately in front of him, and there was _Glenn _and Dimitri thought, _not now. Not now. _Even now he waited for Glenn to smirk at him, that same unsmiling one, the one he'd given to Dimitri countless times, but the smirk never came.

He blinked. Mopped his hair back, away from his face and squinted.

No, it was _Felix_. He hadn't seen Felix since before the invasion and he hated to say it but he looked... well. Or as well enough as Felix could possibly be. His gaze was surlier and it seemed that his hair had been cut a different way, tied up in a ponytail rather than bound up in a bun, but this was certainly him. Dimitri looked into his eyes. They were a burnt umber, so very different from Glenn's steely gray eyes, with just a trace of the child he used to be. One of the only traces of warmth in the fog and rain and mud. Except they were so cold as they regarded Dimitri, droplets of water seeping down his face.

"Tell me this much," Dimitri said, or rather yelled through the din of the battle. "Did you at least mourn properly for the deaths of Ingrid and your father?"

And there was that familiar hatred in Felix's eyes. "You don't get to say that to me, boar prince," he spat out. He readied his sword. "If only you'd stood aside they would still be alive."

"Stood aside?" Dimitri laughed. "Faerghus won and earned its independence. We will die before we succumb to that woman."

"Foolish," Felix said. "Lady Edelgard was never trying to conquer this frozen wasteland. She is trying to purge the system that has led to so much strife. Surely you see that?"

Dimitri blinked. "Strife? That very same strife that so many in Faerghus depend on? The very same strife that collects funds and helps the poor and needy? The very same strife that ensures goodness in Fódlan? And since when did you care about the welfare of the land? Or have you been brainwashed by that woman?"

Felix laughed. "I don't care for the welfare of the land. I care about growing stronger and cutting my own path."

Dimitri readied Areadbhar, bouncing the weight of the handle in his palm. It glowed a threatening orange and pulsed in his hands as if it anticipated the drawing of blood. Dimitri had always felt a little unsettled at how... _alive_ the relic seemed, but considered it a necessary evil to use to eradicate any and all threats. "Your path ends here."

He glanced past Felix briefly, at Mercedes. The Dark Knight had dismounted his horse and strode up to Mercedes, his lance raised at the ready. He felt his blood stop in its tracks, but as he squinted at Mercedes he noticed something.

She was not cowering, nor was she attempting to back away. She was speaking, but her hands were not glowing in anticipation - She wasn't invoking a spell, she was _talking_ to him.

He watched as the Dark Knight seized her with one gauntleted hand and lift him to her.

"Mercie!" Dimitri yelled but knew she couldn't hear him not from how far away he was, but Felix turned around to watch too.

He watched her lips move, impossibly reach toward his head calmly and remove his armor to reveal...

Jeritza?

How hadn't he spotted it earlier? The uncanny resemblance between both of them with the exact shade of their skin and eyes? What did that mean?

He watched suddenly horrified, as they locked eyes for one impossibly long moment, Mercedes's expression resolute and final before Jeritza raised his blackened lance and stabbed her through her chest. He watched her expression stiffen as though the pain were so sudden and so severe she could not comprehend the feeling of it, then go slack. Jeritza's face was dull, calm, completely devoid of emotion as he killed the love of Dimitri's life.

The fighting continued on, but the world had stopped. The strange buzzing Dimitri had tried so hard to keep at bay was back in full force. He was stunned.

He couldn't believe she was dead. He couldn't believe she had accepted it. A world where Mercedes was dead and he was alive. He couldn't-

He dropped to his knees water streaming down his face, down his hair, looking unseeingly into nothing.

"Dimitri," Felix said. But it wasn't Felix, it was Glenn, because Felix would never call him by his name, never look at him with eyes that were pitying.

Dimitri swallowed. "Get away from me," he said, his knees sinking into the mud, the mud climbing up, dragging him to the depths of hell where he belonged for being a failure.

"Is he okay?" he heard a new, measured, calm voice that brought him back to reality. 

"How should I know?" He heard Felix say sullenly.

He blinked through the rain, up to those impossibly beautiful lavender eyes. Edelgard stood over him, impossibly tall for a petite woman. There was no concern in her eyes.

"You..." he stuttered. "You demon... Why..." he choked out.

"If you would surrender," Edelgard said, her voice clear, commandeering, devoid of emotion. "I may spare your life." In her hands was her legendary relic, Aymr which glowed menacingly against the rain.

He spat at her, his expression bitter. "Curse you, El. Curse your ancestors and your descendants. I hope you perish knowing the pain of suffering, of being betrayed by those you hold dear to you. I hope you someday understand personal pain."

He watched the briefest flicker of emotion flicker across her face, but it must have been the trick of the light coming from the glow of her weapon because when she raised her weapon, there was just the expression of the executioner.

"How interesting that you think I haven't experienced it," she said, curiously emotional. "That my personal burdens and pains have nothing to do with cutting my own path." He wondered if she understood who she was, knew who she was.

But then she swung down and that was all Dimitri knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concludes the end of Dimitri's epilogue. honestly, there wasn't really a reason to put this in but i did want to put perspective from dimitri's pov. i realize the first 5 chapters kind of painted him in a really... negative light.... just like stringin felix along bc he wanted to use him as a stand-in for glenn. and that wasn't my intention (well... it was, but it was supposed to be more complicated than that clearly the man is totally delusional but y'all knew that)....... and then maybe i did end up making him worse off in this chapter. AGH. i love dimitri but it doesn't seem like i do, does it lmao
> 
> dimitri is best boy, deserves all the hugs (and several baths in different routes) and generally lots and lots and lots of therapy.
> 
> dimitri's marriage to mercedes was based on several things i thought about whilst playing CF. 
> 
> one, i found it interesting that in CF, dimitri's map features sylvain, dedue... and mercedes. story-wise dedue and sylvain make sense. dedue is dimitri's closest, most loyal companion (and vassal) and sylvain is a childhood friend (and a pretty good strategist if his interest in board games has anything to go off of) but mercedes always made me wonder and dimitri's parting dialogue when she meets her end is also interesting because he insinuates that the only reason she died was because of him ("Were it not for me you wouldn't have been dragged into this" or something like that. of course, this could be in a general sense [dimitri decided to resist the empire] but it could also hold more meaning... and i'm choosing to believe there's more).
> 
> there's also the fact that dimitri references the fact that even if he does meet his end in CF, the blaiddyd line will go on.
> 
> to me, this means dimitri and a wife (not necessarily specifically mercedes since you can recruit her) has produced a legitimate heir (or at the very least dimitri's uncle produced an heir before he was assassinated due to his philandering ways but it probs wasn't a legitimate heir). and i also do think if there was anything that would have pulled dimitri out of his madness (bc he's not as mad and insane as he is in the other routes) it would be the fact that he has something to live for... that he has something he can call his own blood and family. i spent some time thinking about what separates dimitri in this timeline as opposed to the other 3 and yeah, it's maybe the fact that he was allowed to stay in his own kingdom (and not get ousted), but i also think that he was able to stay away from revenge bc he had something more to live for. 
> 
> that's where the idea of marriage to mercedes + child came from.
> 
> one more chapter. any guess as to which perspective it might come from?


	7. epilogue 2: perihelion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what if there was a happy ending?
> 
> this is super unbeta'd like the rest of the chapters on here so probably very inconsistent, very rambly, lots of typos but whatevs :}

It wasn't an exaggeration that Fhirdiad had burnt to a crisp and yet as Sylvain surveyed what was once one of the greatest, most thriving cities he'd ever been in, he felt that it was ludicrous to describe it as burnt to a crisp.

There was still smoke emanating from the once-thriving city and there were little fires everywhere when he came around. The Adrestrian army - or Fódlan's Army now, Sylvain supposed, now that there was no more Leicester Alliance and Faerghus - had all but departed. All that remained was the giant carcass of The Immaculate One, the very same beast that he'd seen five years ago defend Garreg Mach. He wondered whose executive decision it was not to even give the great beast a proper burial. He wondered about a lot of things. What had transpired here?

For Sylvain wasn't there when it happened. He'd fled as soon as he'd witnessed the unthinkable - that of His Highness's beheading.

Like the coward he was, he had turned away once he knew it was over. He couldn't bear to watch the execution. He tugged at his horse - her name was Lutin - and she turned away obediently. He felt the earth beneath him, almost a mile away, tremble at Aymr sinking into the ground, shuddering as if it knew what wicked deed the relic had just done.

He pushed away the thought that King Dimitri was dead, that Faerghus was no more, and instead focused on running. He dug his heel into Lutin's flank, spurring her on into a gallop. Scarcely had he gone less than a league from the battlefield did he stop abruptly, a single person blocking his path.

It was Professor Byleth. They stood, the Sword of the Creator in their hands. Lutin pawed at the ground nervously.

"Don't move," they said and Sylvain couldn't help but think they sounded much like they had years ago. 

Despite what he'd just witnessed, Sylvain couldn't help but smile. "Or what, Professor? Would you like to have a word after the lesson? Take me back to your private office for a little one on one tutoring?"

Sylvain had flirted shamelessly and often with the Professor all those years ago and they had ignored it all the while. Sylvain hadn't minded. He knew they were out of his league, but he didn't stop.

As they had all those years ago, they treated his advances as nothing and instead said, "You know it's over, Sylvain."

"Why do you think I'm fleeing?" he asked them. The rain had slicked his normally unkempt hair down his forehead, plastering to his skin. Impatiently, he swept it aside as he regarded them. "The war's over."

"It's not over until Rhea's dead," the Professor responded evenly. There was an edge to their voice.

That edge was enough for Sylvain to say, "You... you really want to kill her."

Professor Byleth said nothing, but there was a fierce determination in their light green eyes. "It's the only way to end this."

Sylvain clenched his jaw. He'd always found it hard to read the Professor's emotions. They were always curiously blank, but something had changed in them throughout these years. They moved with more purpose, more determination. Somehow, they'd grown to become more godlike and also more human at the same time. He couldn't imagine what it was exactly. "You once considered Garreg Mach your home," he said.

"And you once hated the very Crest you carry with you," they responded. There was a strange gleam to their eyes that he could not entirely decipher. "Tell me, Sylvain. Why do you choose to fight for something that you do not desire? A cause you do not believe in?"

He felt a flash of irritation at that question. "I grew up. I realized I had responsibilities. It's not just about my own selfish desires."

"You think others don't share the same desires you do?" Professor Byleth countered in their same, steady voice. "That your dreams are for the good of all around you?"

He faltered at that.

"Sometimes, I wonder what could have happened if only I'd recruited you as well. I believe you would have done so well in our Adrestrian Army." Now he knew what the strange gleam was. Regret. He didn't like it on their face.

"I don't think so. I don't do well as a traitor," Sylvain responded, but he wasn't sure. Even now, all these years later, he replayed the last real conversation he had with Felix in the Fraldarius manor where Felix had asked, no _begged_ him to be with him. What would his life have been like if he'd said yes?

"You think we're traitors, but to whom?"

"To Fódlan."

"Fódlan needs to be liberated."

"To Lady Rhea?" Sylvain laughed bitterly. "She took you in, gave you a home when you had none."

"She tried to sacrifice me for some pipe dream," Professor Byleth countered. "She's responsible for the division of Fódlan, and the reason our borders are blocked. Wasn't that something you once felt so passionately about? Opening your borders to Sreng?"

He hated that they knew that, in their uncanny way. Professor Byleth paid attention in ways his closest friends had never done. It was what made them such a great professor, and the reason why Sylvain hesitated, but only for a moment.

"You'd better move out of the way before I attack you," Sylvain said.

They locked their eyes on Sylvain's, and it was as though they could peer into his very soul. "I never considered you an enemy." They stepped aside.

And as Sylvain rode away, he realized belatedly what the professor's last expression was.

That of pity.

* * *

Sylvain rode aimlessly.

He was always careful to give Lutin a break, to drink up, and to graze if needed. But as to himself, he scarcely ate. His body, one he'd been so proud of and kept in shape, began to wither away. His cheeks hollowed out, dark circles appeared under his eyes, and his hair grew messier. A beard formed. He looked completely unrecognizable, which was just as well.

He was not good at losing, not when it was something he'd put all his effort into, only to fail so miserably.

He grinned slightly through chapped lips at the thought. He'd spent so many years at Garreg Mach being rejected by girls, at being content in just barely getting by, not really caring if he failed out of Garreg Mach. The one thing he'd thrown himself into - into securing victory for His Highness, he'd lost in.

There was always a seed of doubt that had planted itself deeply within Sylvain the moment his father had suspected he had a Crest. The doubt was that Sylvain perhaps was not cut out to be Margrave, that perhaps it should have been Miklan all along. Even if his older brother was cruel, had left a myriad of scars both physical and mental on Sylvain, Sylvain had watched with envy the way Miklan treated others, watched the way he was kind, yet could be an imposing force. In another life, he could have been a great Margrave, and it was only because of pure, sheer luck that he wasn't.

It was this thought that Sylvain resolved he would never really try, never really care about the affairs around him. He'd preferred to look at it from a completely neutral point of view.

This was, of course, until he met Felix. At a very young age, the boy was at a disadvantage against his Glenn who was naturally talented and was quick to learn the way of things. Sylvain had at first studied him as a scientist might - why did Felix care so much? What about him made him so competitive? Even more curious was the fact that Felix did not seem to care that he was the recipient of a Major Crest, something every noble had coveted. He had to be the only person in Faerghus with a Major Crest and yet he barely cared. The only time he seemed to acknowledge it was when others thought Felix was only skilled at his craft because of his Crest. Sylvain knew that always bothered Felix, knew that the youngest Fraldarius spent every waking moment whipping himself into shape.

Sylvain would never admit it aloud but it was through the study of Felix, that Sylvain decided to wisen up. What if there was a system where Crests did not matter so much? For the Gautiers that meant ensuring Sreng wouldn't be a threat.

And so from there, Sylvain devised his own solution - rather than eradicating Sreng or treating them like an enemy, he could broker peace with them.

He slid off Lutin and led her over to the pond a copse of woods for a drink. He wondered what Felix was doing now. Did he still rise with the sun to train? His heart ached unexpectedly at that. Before Lutin lowered her head to drink, he glimpsed his reflection.

His beard was scraggly, unkempt. He looked wild, almost unrecognizable. His hair had grown almost to Miklan's length, to his shoulders. 

He squared his shoulders which had been stiff from riding for so long.

His Highness left him a mission, hadn't he? He could picture King Dimitri now, his long blond hair pushed away from his face in an effort to study the maps more clearly. This was the Dimitri he'd wanted to remember. A ruler who was awkward yet kind, guarded yet so earnest in everything he did. He remembered the way Dimitri had abandoned all business when one of the royal nursemaids had announced that Queen Mercedes was in labor. How he'd knocked over two chairs in haste, and opened the door with such force that he ripped it from its hinges and he'd barely noticed the damage to be by his beloved's side.

Sylvain remembered thinking he couldn't see King Dimitri as a father, but once he'd seen him dote on the young prince, the way his frozen blue eyes softened upon seeing his son, he knew that perhaps that a father was something he was always destined to be.

His vision became blurry and he swiped at the tears that had formed at his water line, though nobody was there to watch him. He didn't know this was something he could cry over but it seemed wholly unfair and tragic what had happened to His Highness, what had happened to all of Faerghus. 

The truth was he'd truly believed in His Highness. It was one of the very many reasons he'd chosen to back King Dimitri over the Emperor who never tried to humanize herself to the public, pretty and intelligent though she was.

Sylvain wiped his tears and took his clothes off. He lowered himself into the pond and began to wash himself.

It was King Dimitri's last wish that he raise Alexei away from this mess, and so he would. He owed it to everyone and to himself.

* * *

Sylvain kept the beard, but cut his hair to its regular length and began eating regularly to build his strength up. He didn't want to be easily noticed. He was sure if he was noticed by the wrong people, he could be tried and hanged. After all, he was one of King Dimitri's closest war generals. The beard didn't make him _as_ recognizable as he once was, though he wondered if he ought to dye his hair too. It was too brilliant a shade of red and he was sure he'd attract a lot of stares based on that alone. But the first inn he'd arrived in, he realized it didn't matter.

The inns were quiet in what was once Faerghus territory, the demeanor somber. As Sylvain traveled further to Adrestrian territory, the demeanor shifted to one of more normalcy. Here, Sylvain realized that people had taken Edelgard's decisive victory in unifying Fódlan with a grain of salt. He determined that she was no friend of the nobles, according to the commonfolk who seemed to regard her with hesitant respect and hope.

Still, as he neared Enbarr, he took care to draw his hood up over his hair. His first stop was to visit the library which he was certain would contain records. He'd spent some time thinking about this as he traveled to Adrestrian territory. Mercedes had refused to tell His Highness or anyone in Faerghus, Alexei's whereabouts. It could be because she didn't want anyone to know of his location in the unlikely event that Edelgard took them as prisoners.

But Sylvain had interacted with Mercedes far longer than King Dimitri had. He'd gotten to know Mercedes initially because he'd thought her an easy enough target - at school she asked seemingly obtuse questions in class that made him think she was a bit of an airhead and not very bright. Stupid but beautiful was the type of woman Sylvain liked to chase - they were easy targets after all, and Mercedes exuded an air that made him think she was naive to boot.

He'd quickly discovered he was all wrong about Mercedes and that they were remarkably alike. Their Crests were the reason they'd had hard lives in different ways and had shaped them to be more shrewd than their other classmates, but that was where their similarities had fallen short. Mercedes had chosen, after all her experiences, to look for the good in people, to rehabilitate them. She let compassion dictate her life, and Sylvain had been a fool to confuse her compassion and kindness for stupidity.

With that in mind, he had a feeling that Mercedes had left Alexei with somebody she'd known while she was in Adrestria. If it was somebody they knew in Faerghus, she'd have no trouble telling them, but Mercedes had known more than anyone else how much the odds were stacked against Faerghus. Likely, she knew the Holy Kingdom was far more likelier to crumble which meant her best bet was sending little Alexei to Adrestria.

Sylvain had another hunch too, but he'd wanted to confirm it in Enbarr's library. Their library, he knew, rivaled Garreg Mach's being practically ancient. If there was any place that held the most complete records of noble lands, he knew it would be here.

And so he entered Enbarr's library, tying Lutin up by the entrance. He pat her flank once, before heading inside.

The library was enormous and spacious, with multiple floors, but there weren't many people inside it which made sense. After the war, there were reparations to be made. Likely, no officials had time to browse records, especially if Edelgard decided to rebuild the Empire from scratch. Sylvain withdrew his hood. That was just as well for him. It was already quite a risk to journey to Enbarr. The chances of being spotted by people who knew who he was were high, considering most of the Black Eagles frequented Enbarr to converse with Edelgard about their own lands and duties.

Sylvain found the records section fairly quickly and began to do his research.

Mercedes had been born a Martritz, and at some point, she was a Bartels as well. His first instinct was that she'd given Alexei to her mother, but if this was indeed the case then it would be near impossible to track her down. The Martritz line had ended as soon as Mercedes had renounced her title and became Queen of Faerghus. Some historian had dutifully inscribed the ending date the very same day Mercedes had married King Dimitri. Mercedes's mother - Clarisse von Martritz - had been struck out. There was no death date. Was there a possibility that Mercedes had kept in contact with her?

Sylvain let out a frustrated breath. He couldn't ask her now. King Dimitri had given him a virtually impossible task. Though Sylvain had seen Alexei more than a few times, and could likely recognize him, Fódlan was huge. And what if Alexei was no longer in Fódlan either?

He tried to think of another possibility, but as he sat there browsing through the pages of the records, he felt hopeless. How was he to track down Mercedes's mother who'd renounced her title as soon as she became a woman of faith? And especially when the church had now been dissolved?

A thought, unbidden came to him. What if it wasn't that she'd left her child with a Martritz? What if it was somebody else? Who could it be?

Sylvain squeezed his eyes shut, wondering if he should give up. There were too many possibilities and maybe he didn't know Mercedes as well as he'd thought. After all, he once thought he knew Felix quite well and look how _that_ had turned out. Some part of him always thought they'd be together always, that Felix would follow him as he always had throughout their childhood. Nobody had been more surprised than Sylvain that Felix had decided to join the Empire. It was like a bond that he'd previously thought was inseparable had been broken and Sylvain had no way of knowing what Felix was up to, what he was doing, though Sylvain certainly spent many long, cold and sleepless nights imagining what he was doing at that very moment. If he had found a person to cling to, a person to love...

Even now, it hurt Sylvain to think of him, even though he hadn't seen Felix in six years. There were still times where Sylvain looked for him, where he felt his pulse race when he saw a person with long black hair, before feeling wholly relieved and disappointed when he found out it was merely a stranger. 

He wondered if Felix was in Enbarr, wondered if he'd survived the war. He could still remember the night of Mrs. Fraldarius' funeral, the way Felix had shoved him away, the hurt and rage in his eyes, that life had been so unfair to both of them before the war had even begun.

Mindlessly, he thumbed through the book of records. There were records even of the Alliance nobles and Faerghus nobles as well. The Dominics had all but perished, and with some dull shock, he'd seen that Annette had also perished in Fhirdiad. He swallowed, unwilling to accept the fact that the once cheerful, always clumsy girl who had spent countless hours studying and tutoring others had also burned.

Was life worth living when all his friends were dead? Sylvain found the Galatea line, branched from the Daphnels, and saw Ingrid's death as well. He wondered which historian had dutifully inscribed her death, wondered who had killed her. He tried not to think of the possibility that it could be Felix. Even when he went to the Fraldarius line, he could see that Felix alone still carried his line, but his father had died the same day Ingrid had. Had Felix killed his father as well?

"Staring at a page of records won't get you anywhere closer to him you know," a sleepy voice right behind him said.

Sylvain whirled around, knocking his chair over, ready to kill the speaker.

It was Linhardt.

"You can relax," he said, seemingly unfazed by Sylvain's threatening stance. "I'm not going to scream for help."

"Or use magic on me?" Sylvain asked.

"That would be too much work. What could you possibly do on your own in a library?" Linhardt asked, yawning. "Although, it is something to see you here. As I recall, you weren't much of a researcher."

Sylvain glowered but relaxed a little. "Normally, I'm not," he grudgingly admitted.

"So what brings you here of all places?" Linhardt asked.

Like many of his other classmates, Sylvain could see that war had changed Linhardt, though not by a lot. His skin was still white from days spent indoors either napping or researching, and there were dark shadows under his eyes that suggested that even with his sleep schedule, he looked haunted by something. His hair had grown long and was neatly groomed and tied in place.

Linhardt was an enemy, Sylvain reminded himself. It was hard to keep track sometimes, and he didn't know Linhardt that well, but he did remember that the sleepy scholar hated war and blood and so Sylvain did not think Linhardt would ever try to kill him.

But he was also a trusted advisor to Edelgard. To tell him of his secret mission that King Dimitri had entrusted to him was... risky. By not telling Edelgard that there was a potential Faerghus heir, that was the very definition of treason. From his perspective, Sylvain didn't think Edelgard would show mercy. She'd done whatever possible to achieve victory, including killing their friends and the Knights of Seiros. And what sort of witchery had she done where Fhirdiad had ended up like that? He couldn't fathom what sort of power she had that it had ended up in flames.

"I know it must be difficult for you to trust me," Linhardt said, as though he were reading Sylvain's mind. "If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't either. It matters not to me."

Sylvain bit his lip. He wondered if Linhardt _could_ even help him on this matter. He knew Adrestrian nobility far better than Sylvain, that much was true, but he wondered if Linhardt possessed the knowledge to solve this conundrum. For now, he stalled. "How is he?" he finally asked, for that was the other pressing question he knew had very little risk.

"Felix?" Linhardt asked mildly. "Mourning, I suppose."

Sylvain raised his eyebrows. "Felix doesn't mourn." Not in the traditional way, anyway. Ingrid had once joked that one was not a Faerghus noble unless one was well acquainted with death and tragedy. It was certainly true for all of them who had known a loved one to perish from the plague years ago, war, or other things. Death and tragedy followed Felix in so many ways, Sylvain was sure Felix was accustomed to it by now. It was perhaps why Felix rarely cried, or showed his feelings in front of others. Indeed, it had been a rare time to see his eyes well up in Ingrid's arms when his mother died.

"Yes, none of us thought he did at first. He had us all fooled," Linhardt said. "But he's had time now to reflect, now that the war is over." Linhardt hesitated, then added, "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but he's not doing well."

Sylvain's heart clenched at that. "Are any of us doing well?" he said, noting the shadows under Linhardt's eyes. "Your side won the war and look at you."

Linhardt's shoulders slumped. "Did we really win _the _war?" he wondered, and he seemed to be musing to himself.

Sylvain was confused. Of course, they had. Edelgard had gotten what she wanted, hadn't she, Sylvain thought to himself bitterly. Slaughtered hundreds of thousands of people, toppled empires and for what? He glanced down at the Fraldarius line.

"The weight of winning this war has finally settled on his shoulders," Linhardt said. "Edelgard offered him a top position in her army and his own legion, but he turned it down."

"Yes, well, he doesn't like to assume command of an army," Sylvain said. "He works best alone."

Linhardt cocked his head, stroking his chin. "Does he? For a man who gives all the signals that he wants to be alone, he looked quite... lonely... the last time I saw him."

Sylvain's heart throbbed painfully at the news of that. He hated that. He knew he ought to hate Felix for his role in toppling Faerghus, but he didn't. He wanted to see Felix so badly at that moment, hold him in his arms, have him pressed him to him, smell his hair, his skin, press his lips against his brow, his hair, anywhere he could find of Felix, kiss the loneliness away, kiss him until he could feel nothing. 

"If he didn't accept Edelgard's position, where did he go?"

Linhardt shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows. Hubert has a network of spies that keeps tabs on all of us, you know. He thinks we don't know, but I certainly do," Linhardt said, mildly, as though the thought of Hubert watching him wasn't terrifying. "But I don't think Hubert even knows where Felix went."

"Hubert keeps track of all of you?" Sylvain asked.

Linhardt shrugged again. "It's for everyone's safety. Things are dangerous as it is. Just yesterday there was another rebellion in Hrym. Edelgard's thinking of replacing Jeritza. He's not especially great at managing estates, you know. Kind of like Felix in that sense."

Jeritza... Sylvain had witnessed him murdering Mercedes. That was when he knew it was over because if Mercedes was dead he knew King Dimitri wouldn't be able to function and so he'd watched, with horror, too far apart to do anything, but close enough to see her...

His fingers went cold.

Could it be?

Blood drained from Sylvain's face, as he replayed the memory in his mind with increasing clarity. She'd removed his mask as he held her in his grip, had said something to him. From his view, Sylvain couldn't see the Death Knight's - or Jeritza's - expression, but he had to have heard them because he'd paused until she was finished speaking before plunging his scythe into her.

"Goddess..." Sylvain whispered. What had Mercedes said in the war council room? She'd kept the identity of the person who took Alexei for safekeeping a secret.

She'd told nobody in Faerghus.

Because she'd given Alexei to her murderer.

It was a crazy thought. It was so damn crazy, that Sylvain couldn't believe it. Because why would _Mercedes_ give her child to the embodiment of death itself?

He flipped the records book until he located the page devoted to Hrym, using his index finger to go along the line. The original Hrym line had been all but wiped out during the insurrection and had been given to another of noble birth, Jertiza von Hrym. There was an asterisk next to his name, and when Sylvain looked up the accompanying footnote, he read "formerly known as Emile von _Bartels_."

Bartels... he flipped the pages back to the Bartels line. Hadn't Mercedes told him that her mother had married the head of the Bartels and bore him a son? Hadn't Mercedes once mentioned she had a brother? Felix had once mentioned it to Sylvain in what seemed like a lifetime ago. He'd scoffed about it at the time, trying to look just casually offended, but Sylvain knew it had bothered Felix to be treated as a stand-in for another younger brother.

Sure enough, he saw Mercedes's name in the Bartels line. Jeritza had been her _brother._

Had King Dimitri known about this before he married Mercedes? Was that why he'd been so adamant that Mercedes renounce all her former titles in Adrestrian territory? Had he not wanted the public to make this connection?

The thought of _Jeritza_ of all people with Alexei was so ridiculous, that Sylvain hadn't even considered what sort of risky move it had been for Mercedes to entrust him in his care. She must have had so much faith in him.

"You seem to have had some sort of epiphany," Linhardt yawned, stretching his arms.

Sylvain flinched; he'd forgotten Linhardt was there. "Maybe," he muttered, feeling lightheaded. He shut the book and stood up facing Linhardt. "What can you tell me about Jeritza von Hrym?"

Linhardt regarded him silently, for a moment, as though he were sizing him up and trying to determine how much information to divulge. Eventually, he said, "He's the Death Knight."

"I know that much," Sylvain said. "What's his connection to Edelgard?"

Linhardt shrugged. He seemed to be fond of shrugging. "I don't know, but it seems like he was loyal to her for a long time, though I'm not sure why. He was on our side but he didn't really seem to care about much except his swordsmanship. Like Felix. I'm sensing you have a type."

Sylvain ignored that. The more he thought about it, the less ridiculous it seemed and more daunting it seemed because his next adventure would be to pay a visit to Jeritza von Hrym.

* * *

Most of former Adrestrian territory hadn't suffered as much as what was once Faerghus, Sylvain realized as he traveled to Hrym, but when he got to Hrym, he could see it a different story.

Hrym was a mess. Everywhere Sylvain rode, he could see beggars and filth. People sat at the doorsteps of their destitute homes watching Sylvain ride on Lutin with little interest, helplessness in their eyes. Seeing them this way made Sylvain a little angry. What was Edelgard thinking, leaving Hrym to somebody who clearly didn't care about his people?

Likely, she had other troubles plaguing her, but still... it was madness placing Jeritza in charge of a territory that he cared very little for.

Sylvain thought about his own plans for the Gautier estate and the lands that bordered Sreng. They were ambitious, but he'd been so sure that it would bring prosperity. That hope seemed like such a long time ago. He smiled wryly to himself. There was no such way his dreams would ever be realized now. 

It didn't take long to find where House Hrym was located - the building was no Gautier castle, but it was certainly one of the better-kept houses in Hrym territory. The trees here had fruit ripe for picking, and the grass surrounding the house was well kept. The actual house was little more than a modest mansion. It reminded him of Ingrid's house which was smaller than other noble houses, but infinitely cozier.

House Hrym lacked the coziness though. Though the lawns of the mansion were well-kept, and the walls were properly maintained, the atmosphere of what was barely a mansion was dour. The walls of the house were a slate gray, and the shape of it was rectangular, almost modern-looking. As Sylvain approached on Lutin, he could see all the curtains had been drawn. This was certainly no place for a young child to grow in. He remembered the child who had been raised by busy but loving parents who always set time aside for him, and if they couldn't be there, then he had other uncles and aunts to choose from such as Ingrid, Dedue, Ashe, and Annette.

They were all probably dead by now. 

Sylvain sighed, strengthening his resolve. He wasn't sure if the Death Knight would recognize him. Jeritza had been his teacher at some point six years ago, but Sylvain was under the impression that he did not care much for his students - he only seemed interested in the Professor and Sylvain certainly never gave the impression that he was particularly skilled in any combat either.

Besides, in the last 6 years, Sylvain had certainly changed. Traveling through Adrestrian lands had exposed him to sunlight, and he'd developed a bit of a tan. He'd let his beard grow to obscure most of his face. If any noblewoman could see him now, they would not find him handsome or charming, but the last thing Sylvain wanted was attention.

He chuckled to himself. He really _had_ changed these past years.

He dismounted from Lutin and tied her to a tree, after patting her flank several times. She would need to be rubbed down later on. For now, Sylvain had more important things to attend to.

He slipped through the gates; there were no guards posted at the front and as he approached the door, he could still see no guards. It was eerily quiet, almost abandoned. He wondered if he ought to use the brass knocker and announce himself, but instead, he tried turning the handle and much to his astonishment, the door opened.

He gripped his brave lance at his side and felt his fingertips itch in anticipation of using a spell, just in case there were robbers.

He'd long buried the Lance of Ruin in some undisclosed part of Faerghus woods. He hated the way the thing throbbed in his hands as though it were searching for blood, as though it were a living weapon. He knew that if his father were still alive, he would be appalled for discarding such a famed weapon but Sylvain no longer cared for his father's opinions.

The floors creaked as he crept into the house. It looked as though it was recently used. The furniture wasn't, as he noted, covered in layers of dust. He searched the first floor, through the various sitting rooms, parlors, and kitchen. The kitchen had definitely been used recently. There was a plate of some sort of meat topped with cheese that, when Sylvain sniffed at it, reminded him of home. He did not take a bite but noted that it had to have been made a little earlier.

He turned around, to find a maid staring at him in horror.

Before she could even scream, he was onto her, clamping his hand down over her mouth. She was a small thing, bright green eyes, orange hair she'd bound and braided up and away from her face. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered to her. "But I do have questions, and I'll let you go if you answer them quietly. Do I have your word?"

He saw the fear in her eyes as she briefly considered the lance in his other hand. She nodded and he let go.

He nodded at the plate of cheese. "What is that?"

She blanched. "I didn't want to make it, but the Master insisted that was his son's favorite food."

He waited, his mind racing. Master? Was that Jeritza? And who was the son? Alexei? She finally admitted, "It's called Gautier Cheese Gratin."

A chill ran up his spine. Alexei had taken on both of his parent's taste. He had a penchant for sweet, baked goods and loved food that had cheese like his father. There was little room for doubt in Sylvain's mind. The little Master had to be Alexei.

"Why are there no guards or servants here?"

The woman looked away. "There usually are, but the Master is on leave for an important mission. He didn't tell us where he was going. He left a proxy here to care for the little Master and he let most of the staff go on holiday."

Sylvain stood there, thinking quickly. On one hand, he was relieved he didn't have to confront Jeritza, of whom he was sure would beat him in battle if it came to that. On the other hand, there was somebody else he'd have to deal with. Whoever it was, it couldn't be worse than the Death Knight.

"Where's his son now?" 

"He should be in the nursery, on the second floor," the maid said.

Knowing he only had precious time to spare, he said, "I don't want to get you in trouble, so I'm going to tie you up and gag you. You should be able to get out of it, but I'll be hopefully be gone by then."

Saying so, he managed to find rope and a washcloth which he used on her. As he cinched the knot at her wrists, he couldn't help but think the little maid looked a little like Annette. Thinking that way made him feel immense guilt, and he tried to shove it aside. He'd killed people before, simply binding a kitchen wench was nothing. Even so, he made sure the restraints were a little loose so that if she could, she could get out of them with a little work.

He wasted no time afterward, climbing up the stairs, taking three at a time, until he reached what had to be the nursery.

And there _he_ was.

Alexei.

He'd grown considerably since the last time Sylvain had seen him. He had to be around three years old by now. He had his mother's almost colorless hair and it had grown long and was currently tied back in a loose, low ponytail, but when he turned, the color of his eyes was the exact shade of Dimitri's but there was a world of difference in them. Alexei's eyes were unguarded, full of warmth so unlike Dimitri's frozen ones.

It hurt to see.

Alexei's eyes met Sylvain's and his mouth dropped open. There was a stick in his hand that had been fashioned to look like a lance. "Who are you?" he demanded, brandishing the stick at Sylvain.

Of course, he wouldn't recognize Sylvain. He must look different now with his tanned skin and beard. "You're breaking my heart, kiddo," he managed to say out loud.

He couldn't believe he'd found the Crown Prince. After months of searching, he'd found him. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, savoring this. Knowing his luck, it would all go to hell sooner or later.

A flash of recognition lit up in Alexei's eyes. Sylvain and Ingrid were the only people who called him kiddo. "Uncle Sylvie?" Alexei asked tentatively.

Sylvain dropped to his knees at the recognition and Alexei ran to him, throwing his hands around his waist. Sylvain picked him up and grunted in an exaggerated fashion. "You've gotten so big, Alex. What're they feeding you here?" He bounced Alexei up and down, and Alexei laughed in joy. He wondered if Alexei knew his parents were dead, wondered if he found it odd that Sylvain had come to see him like this. But Alexei was only three years old. Likely Jeritza hadn't told him yet, or perhaps had posed him as his own child.

"Cheese!" he said. "Muffins! Cookies!"

"Oh yeah, what else? Certainly not sandbags and rocks?"

Alexie giggled though Sylvain was certain the little boy had no idea what he meant. He burrowed his head into Sylvain's neck and then said, his voice muffled, "You smell bad."

Sylvain laughed. "It's your fault you know." But he knew he could use a proper bath. It had been a while since he'd soaked in a tub full of hot water and fragrant soap. "I was looking all over the place for you."

"Like hide and seek?" Alexei asked.

"Right, like hide and seek," Sylvain agreed. He combed his fingers through Alexei's hair, noting how fine it was, how well he'd been taken care of. Despite the state of Hrym, he had to admit that the Death Knight was taking good care of his nephew.

"Does that mean now that you founded me, that means I'm it?"

"Well, it means the game is over," Sylvain admitted. "We can play again later. For now, I've got another game for you."

Alexei lifted his head to peer at Sylvain with curious eyes. "What is it?"

Sylvain paused for a moment, as though he were considering it. "Well, I'm not sure. Are you big enough to play?"

"Yes! I'm big enough to play!" Alexei pouted. "You said I got big, didn't you? You said it!"

"I did, didn't I?" Sylvain said. "Very well, I guess you can play. The game is that we're going away."

Alexei cocked his head. "Where? The stables?"

Sylvain swallowed. "Maybe a little further than that."

He hadn't considered where to go. He knew that once he'd gotten Alexei out, there would be no safe place in Fódlan. He knew that the Death Knight was relentless, knew that as long as they stayed here, they would be hunted down. He wasn't sure if Jeritza even liked Alexei, but something told him he would honor Mercedes's wishes as best he could.

Sylvain had never left Fódlan before. Oh, he'd dreamed about it several times, to run away and never have to be responsible for the Gautier estate. To never have to marry a noblewoman who only saw him for his title and Crest. But those were all dreams.

Still, what did he have left here?

"How much further?"

Sylvain felt his fingers grow cold at the new voice. He turned slowly, still holding Alexei, to stare at the man in the doorway. He hadn't heard that voice in years, but all the feelings came rushing back.

It was Felix.

* * *

Alexei introduced Felix as, "Uncle Fewix." Sylvain pretended this was the first time meeting him, and stuck his hand out. His heart was hammering as he did so, though he forced an easy, practiced smile on his face. He didn't think Felix would shake his hand, but he was surprised when Felix had taken his hand firmly with his own and shook it.

He swallowed at his touch and was glad his beard obscured the apple at his throat bobbing. Even though they were both wearing gloves, and there was no skin on skin contact, Sylvain felt the warmth emanating from Felix's fingers as he squeezed Sylvain's hand.

There was no denying it; Felix looked good, maybe even better than good. He'd seen Felix right before Dimitri had died, but because they were too far away, he hadn't gotten a close look at him, and most of his focus was on Dimitri anyway.

But now, up close, he could see that five years had matured Felix. His face was still a study of sharp angles, but his eyes, hardened at the sight of Sylvain, were tempered by the familiar shades of honey that Sylvain often used to find himself drowning into. They were the same if a little more guarded, a little more worn out.

He'd also changed his hairstyle. His hair was cut so that it framed his face and his hair was now up in a ponytail. He'd also grown a few inches but was still a few inches shorter than Sylvain.

Alexei made them play "Save the Princess" for an hour, before he grew tired and fell asleep, his body leaning against Felix.

Sylvain watched Felix stiffen at the contact, before picking Alexei up and tucking him into the crib. "He still sleeps there because he rolls around a lot and falls out easily," Felix said, as a way of explanation, even though Sylvain had not asked why the crown prince still slept in a crib.

He watched Felix doing this. He knew he should have left already, but he had to believe that Felix being here was more than just a coincidence. Sylvain wasn't big on believing in Sothis but their meeting had to be fate.

He sucked in a breath as he watched Felix smooth Alexei's hair away from his face, his expression unusually soft.

"Why are you here?" Sylvain asked. 

Felix didn't turn to Sylvain, but his hands stilled. "I should be asking _you_ that question. I suppose I'm here to take care of Hrym lands while Jeritza's away. It shouldn't be for a long time before he's back though. Thought you were dead," he added casually.

And somehow that irritated Sylvain. The ease in which he'd contemplated Sylvain's death. "You thought I was dead, or you wished?"

Felix finally turned to face Sylvain. "What a thing to say," he said, his voice so low, that if there was any other noise going on, Sylvain wouldn't have heard what he said. "You know, I often wondered if I would ever see you again."

Sylvain was quiet, unsure of what to say. So much time had passed between them. Felix was not the little boy Sylvain had once known. He did not cry easily anymore, and it seemed like all the fight in him had gone out. What remained of him was a mystery, Sylvain thought.

"I should ask you again," Felix said positioning himself between Sylvain and the crib - blocking Sylvain from seeing Alexei at all. "What you're doing here."

Sylvain attempted a smile. "Maybe I just wanted to see you. Can't we just have a chat over chess, like old times? I ask you how far you've gone with a woman, you tell me I'll never amount to anything."

Felix stared at him for a long moment. Sylvain longed to know what he was thinking. Eventually, Felix cocked his head toward Alexei's chest of toys. "There's a chess set in there. Get it out."

Sylvain blurted, "Really? You always hated playing chess." He walked over to the chest and began to dig through toy soldiers, horses, balls and other toys until he found the chess set. It was a wooden set that folded out into a board. He sat on the floor and began to arrange the pieces.

"Because you always won." Felix sat down in front of him on the opposite end. Sylvain could almost smell him from how close he was. He remembered Felix smelling like soap, steel, and sweat. He was never one to put cologne or use fragrant soap. "I hated losing."

Sylvain grinned. "Maybe your luck will change. White moves first."

And so Felix did, selecting a pawn to move, his eyes never leaving the board even though they'd only just started. "The beard is new."

"Do you like it?" Sylvain moved his own pawn.

Felix ignored the question, which cut off the conversation for several minutes as they silently moved the pieces across the board.

Sylvain was burning to ask him several things. Had he killed his own father? Had he killed Ingrid? Did he know Alexei's true identity? Had he still been in love with His Highness when he just watched Edelgard chop his head off? Was he thinking about kissing Sylvain this very moment?

"You ever marry?" Sylvain asked.

The answer was curt. "No."

"I didn't either."

"I didn't ask. But that's not surprising," Felix retorted, swiftly taking one of Sylvain's pawns. "You're not the kind of person who would settle down and start a family."

"Maybe I would with the right person," Sylvain said, stroking his beard.

"I highly doubt she exists."

"Well," Sylvain said, and he couldn't help himself, "maybe he does."

He watched Felix's cheeks turn bright red. He finally faced Sylvain. "Don't do that," he muttered.

"Do what?"

"Flirt with me like that. Like you're..." he trailed off, crossing his arms.

"Into you? What if I still am?" Sylvain said softly.

Felix pushed the board aside and the pieces flew all over the place. There was nothing between them now. "You don't. You can't. We're not on the same side."

"The war is over, Felix."

Felix closed his eyes. "So what? It doesn't change the fact that we-that I..." 

He couldn't help it anymore. He leaned forward, pulling Felix by the arms toward him and gripped him into a hug, tightening his arms around his waist. "The war is _over_, Felix. There are no more sides, not when my side lost." He buried his nose into Felix's neck and inhaled a long, deep breath. He still smelled of soap, steel, sweat. "Come with me. Let's escape the damage."

"I was complicit in Ingrid's death. I watched her die, Sylvain," Felix choked out. "There's no coming back from that. How can you still want me?"

Sylvain drew back, studying him. "And I was responsible for classmates' deaths too. Nobody is innocent in war."

"But they weren't Ingrid. They weren't your own father," Felix said, and Sylvain could see the brokenness in his eyes, the horror of what he'd witnessed and suddenly Sylvain understood through his expression what it felt like to win but to also feel like the win was a loss. Perhaps Felix had shown true boldness all along when he'd went down this route, knowing the sacrifices he had to make.

"Fuck our fathers," Sylvain said harshly. "And fuck our titles. And you didn't kill them with your own hands. You were right all along, Felix. Who cares about the burdens we inherit? Who cares about all of it, when there's nothing left to care about? All I know is I haven't stopped thinking about you since the last time I saw you."

Felix stared at Sylvain. "How can you say that? You said the last time that there was duty over our own-"

"It's over," Sylvain said loudly. "I lost, Faerghus lost. That changes everything. There's only one thing left for me to do in life, and I intend to see it through. I'm asking you to be by my side as I do it."

Felix looked like he wanted to argue back, but refrained. "What is it? What is it you must do?"

He untangled himself from Felix. "I intend to take the child away from here, raise him away from all of this."

Felix jerked his head back, indicating the crib. "Alexei?"

"His father's last wish was that I find him and raise him away from all of this," Sylvain said carefully.

"Dimitri," Felix said, and Sylvain realized that was one of the first times he'd ever heard Felix say his name.

"Yes," Sylvain said.

Felix was quiet. Sylvain wondered what he was thinking. 

Sylvain said, "We could raise him together. We could go wherever you wanted to go, away from Fódlan. You could be the mercenary you always wanted to be."

Felix smiled, and even though it was sad, Sylvain's heartbeat quicker seeing it on there. "My dreams seem like such a long time ago. I don't even know if that's what I want."

"What do you want then?"

Felix looked away, and Sylvain knew whatever he was about to say next was something he was embarrassed to admit out loud. "I want... I want us to be at Garreg Mach. I wish I'd never joined the Black Eagles. I wish the Professor chose the Blue Lions and we won the war together. I wish I got to see Ingrid become a knight. I wish I saw Dimitri happy and married with Alexei. I wish you and I..." he trailed off, swallowing.

"You _did_ see some of those things happening. You saw Ingrid being a knight in her final moments and through Alexei, I'm sure you know he was loved by his parents." He sighed. "I was there you know. Even though all of us knew in our hearts we were on the losing side, we were happy, Felix. I'd never seen Ingrid as happy as during the war. She had as much food as she always wanted, and her knightly duties kept her father away from asking for suitors. We were happy. Well, most of us were." There was no point in telling Felix that he had wondered so many times if he'd made the right choice in backing His Highness. Ideologically, Edelgard's proposition of eliminating a Crest-based system was highly appealing to Sylvain. It was only the promise of becoming the next Margrave that held Sylvain back into supporting His Highness, along with staying by Ingrid, and His Highness's side, and the rest of the Blue Lions.

He saw some of the guilt leave Felix's eyes.

"I can't promise you that it will be what it was five years ago because we will never be the same. But I want to try again. With you."

"And if I decide not to go along with you?"

Sylvain looked away. "Well, I guess our paths will cross again in another five years, and I hope you decide to stay with me because I'll always want you."

* * *

The smell of flatbread had Sylvain's mouth watering. He'd never been one for coffee initially, but it had been a year or so since he'd traveled here, and he'd grown accustomed to it over time. He sipped at his own cup as he perused the stalls in Levant. He eventually found a stall selling _fatir_ and purchased a few loaves and a bottle of _ayran_ for Alexei who complained often of the heat. He paid for the items and slipped them in his bag, before eyeing a lamp.

The lamps in Morfis were unlike any he'd seen before. They were made of thousands of differently colored bits of glass that were all pieced together to form beautiful patterns of colors.

This particular one was made of amber-colored glass with bits of blue in it. "How much is this?" he asked, gesturing toward the lamp. He was lucky that Morfis had so many traders that they all spoke at least rudimentary Fódlanese. Still, Sylvain had picked up some of the words needed to purchase items. "_Kitna_?" he asked again, knowing he was butchering the language.

The man grinned. "Its price is beyond coin, young man. This lamp was once owned by the last queen who resided here before the Bedouins lopped his head off." He cackled. 

Sylvain doubted it was true. Most tradespeople in Morfis exaggerated their wares, but they never outright lied. They believed that an outright lie was bad for business, from what Sylvain had gathered in the few months he'd spent here.

"What are you asking for?"

The man considered his whole appearance. "The color of your hair," he decided. "Just a bit from your right temple."

"No," Sylvain said. "And my eyes are not for sale either." The people in Morfis were fascinated by Sylvain's hair color and were always interested in one's eye color, no matter the shade. 

The man pouted. In the end, he settled for a freckle, located on Sylvain's neck, though Sylvain had no idea which precisely it was. He had so many of them, that he had no problems bartering them away.

He brought his spoils back as soon as the call to first prayers began. He loved the call to prayer. There was some part of it that soothed his soul and sounded like music, even if there were no instruments.

The home was a far cry from the Gautier castle. It was a simple two-bedroom apartment. He left the items he'd purchased on the table and checked in on Alexei who had just begun to stir awake due to the call to prayer.

Then he went to his room, slid under the covers, and kissed Felix's bare shoulder.

"Awake?" Sylvain said.

"How can't I be with that racket going on outside?" Felix said irritably, but he turned around to face Sylvain. "You just drank coffee," he said, smelling his breath.

Sylvain hummed an assent and dipped his head in to nuzzle Felix's neck, seeking his warmth and his scent. He snaked an arm around his waist and brought him close so that they were almost chest to chest. He started to kiss his chest, his neck, feeling Felix's pulse quicken.

They lay there for a moment, trading kisses, listening to the sounds that came with the dawn. Felix traced Sylvain's freckles, then frowned. "There's one missing," he said.

Sylvain said nothing, rolling over Felix. He pressed his hips against Felix's and kissed his mouth deeply, threading his hands through Felix's hair, reveling in how silky it was.

Felix was distracted, but not for long. Eventually, he said, "You bought another lamp, didn't you?"

"It was the color of your eyes." Sylvain grinned.

"You keep this up and you'll have no freckles left," Felix warned.

"Who cares?"

"I do." There was a beat, and then Felix turned red and turned his face away.

Sylvain grinned. It was only a few months since they'd fled Hrym and had taken a boat to Morfis, but it hadn't been an easy journey. Each still had nightmares, Felix more than Sylvain and Felix still found it hard to express his feelings, his wants, his needs. But there was progress, like now, when Felix said something.

Sylvain reached over and grabbed Sylvain's hand and brought the back of it to his lips. "If you like them, then I suppose I could keep them for you."

Felix made a noise that sounded annoyed, but a moment later, he uttered a quiet, "Thanks."

For a moment they were both silent, watching the light fill their modest room. Aside from Sylvain's lamps, there wasn't much to furnish the room. A chest for their things, a drawer for their clothes, that was it.

"Do you think he'll find us here?" Felix asked after a moment. Sylvain knew he was referring to Jeritza.

They'd left a note before they left.

_We have taken Alexei. Do not worry about his wellbeing. He is in safe hands as per his parents' final wishes._

Sylvain had wanted it as cryptic as possible and he hoped Jeritza wouldn't come and find them. He wasn't sure how close their bond was, but Felix had explained to Sylvain that the only person Jeritza had perhaps cared for was Mercedes and that he might want to raise the child because she'd asked him to.

"I don't know," Sylvain admitted now. "Not a lot of people leave Fódlan. He might spend years thinking we're all still in the country."

"But Morfis would be the next logical choice. It's close to Hrym. A few days away by ship."

"It's been months and he hasn't come here yet," Sylvain pointed out. "But we can always move. If that's what you'd like."

Felix turned to face Sylvain, and he said quietly, "I like it here. And Alexei does too."

The boy _did_ enjoy Morfis. He had picked up the language even quicker than either and he found their customs delightful, though Felix and Sylvain had to keep a close eye on him. Even though Morfis was filled with quirky townsfolk, it could also be dangerous. When they'd first arrived, a tradesman had almost traded a musical box that played a different song each time it was opened for Alexei's life up until the musical box broke.

"Let's stay then," Sylvain said. "Until we absolutely have to leave."

Felix smiled a rare sweet smile at him. "You know my mother used to sing this song to me at bedtime about a frog that searched for the perfect lilypad."

Sylvain's heart quickened at that smile, at the fact that he was talking about his mother. They rarely brought up their families, but both knew how they felt about their titles.

"Have you heard of it?"

Sylvain shook his head. He'd never known his own mother, and his father made sure that his sons would grow up to be hardened warriors. As such the boys only had male tutors, and educators. There were no nannies past the age of five. Any lullabies or tales he'd heard were not from his childhood.

Felix regarded him for a moment. "The frog journeys across the stars and the moon to find the perfect lilypad, but ends up back home in Morfis because he finds the perfect lilypad there. Everytime my mom sang it to me, I wondered what kind of place Morfis was, and now that I'm here, it's beyond what I could have imagined."

Sylvain smirked. "No lilypads in this desert though."

A delicate blush crept over Felix's cheeks. "Well," he said, staring at him steadily, unabashedly, "Maybe there's a perfect home."

Sylvain's mouth almost dropped. He felt the flush rising up to his cheeks. "You can't say those kinds of things," he muttered turning his face away to cover it up, but Felix held his cheek, preventing him from looking away.

"Now you know how _I_ feel, when you say those ridiculous things," he teased, lowering himself toward Sylvain for a kiss.

And it would have turned into something more, except at that moment, Alexei burst into their room and jumped onto their bed and Felix had gotten stern and told him about boundaries and knocking before entering, which Alexei didn't understand. Somehow, he ended up between them, whining about wanting to go outside to play before his lessons began. Like his father and mother, he was stubborn and relentless, until Felix finally relented, his usual characteristic scowl on his face.

And so they did, not knowing what the future held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been.... a really long time since i've completed multichaptered work. years, i'd say.
> 
> this is actually a lot happier note than how i'd wanted to end it, but there's been too much sad stuff going on irl that i decided to give them a happy ending lol.
> 
> i'm happy that i'm finished, a little sad too that this story is over. at some point i will think about how i could have made this better, but as of now i'm happy enough to post it and mark this complete.
> 
> i want to thank everyone who read my work, extra thanks to those who dropped kudos, and extra, extra love to those who left comments. it's always a treat to interact with my readers.
> 
> with that said, please everyone do what you must to get through this difficult period of time (aside from breaking social distancing rules), no matter where you are. i know a ton of you out there must be introverts, so social-distancing must come a bit easier, but even so, please be safe. it's difficult to be cheerful in such times, but i hope wherever you are, you're okay and practicing social distancing. i have family and friends on the frontlines fighting this thing and it's really no joke. it doesn't seem like it's going to get any better for a while either, so please, please stay sane, stay positive until we reach the end of this.


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